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Title: The life of John Metcalf, commonly called Blind Jack of Knaresborough

Author: John Metcalf

Release date: December 20, 2022 [eBook #69595]
                Most recently updated: October 19, 2024

Language: English

Original publication: United Kingdom: E. & R. Peck

Credits: deaurider, Brian Wilsden and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF JOHN METCALF, COMMONLY CALLED BLIND JACK OF KNARESBOROUGH ***

 Transcriber’s Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.

[Illustration: JOHN METCALF AGED 78.

_Drawn by J.R. Smith._

_Published as the Act directs Augᵗ. 31. 1795 by E & R Peck, York._]




  THE
  LIFE
  OF
  JOHN METCALF,
  COMMONLY CALLED
  _Blind Jack of Knaresborough_.

  WITH,
  Many Entertaining ANECDOTES of his EXPLOITS in
  _Hunting_, _Card-Playing_, _&c._
  Some PARTICULARS relative to the
  Expedition against the REBELS in 1745,
  _IN WHICH HE BORE A PERSONAL SHARE_;
  AND ALSO
  A Succinct ACCOUNT of his various CONTRACTS for
  Making ROADS, Erecting BRIDGES,
  AND OTHER UNDERTAKINGS,
  IN
  _Yorkshire_, _Lancashire_, _Derbyshire_,
  _and Cheshire_;
  Which, for a Series of Years, have brought him into
  PUBLIC NOTICE, as a most
  _EXTRAORDINARY CHARACTER_.

  EMBELLISHED WITH
  A STRIKING HALF-LENGTH PORTRAIT.

  YORK:
  PRINTED AND SOLD BY E. AND R. PECK.
  1795.

  [_Entered at Stationers’ Hall._]




ADVERTISEMENT.


To a generous public little apology will be necessary for offering to
their patronage the Story of an Individual, who, under circumstances the
most depressing in their nature, has been, for a considerable part of a
long life, their assiduous and useful servant.

The Blind, in all ages and countries, have engaged, in a peculiar
degree, the sympathy of mankind;—and, where original poverty has
been annexed to their misfortune, it has been esteemed the utmost
exertion in their favour, to enable them to minister to the amusement
of society, as the only means for keeping them independent of it: To
this general rule, however, a surprising exception is here shewn; and
it is fortunate for the credibility of this little piece, that it is
given to the world during the life-time not only of its HERO, but of
many others who were witnesses of the various extraordinary _facts_ it
contains.

It is fit, however, to notice the disadvantages under which it now
makes its appearance;—and which, from circumstances, were unavoidable:
The person whose task it was to render it, in some degree, fit for the
press, had much difficulty to encounter in arranging the dates, scarce
any attention having been paid to chronological order; and the various
anecdotes having been set down, as the recollection of them arose in
the mind of the narrator, by an amanuensis wholly unqualified for the
purpose, and given in a language intelligible to those only who are
well acquainted with the Yorkshire dialect.—To those inaccuracies
was added, a literal _disrespect of persons_; the first and third
being indiscriminately used throughout. To avoid constantly-recurring
egotisms, the preference is here given to the third person; though it
is feared even that will be found too often in the proper name, where
it might have been, in many instances, supplied by the pronoun.—But
a long absence having necessarily suspended the attention of the
Editor, and the desire for publication before the close of the
Harrogate season being urgent, he is not allowed time to correct
his own errors. For the same reason, the part containing an account
of the share which Metcalf bore under the late Colonel Thornton, in
his expedition against the rebels; his various undertakings as a
road-maker, &c. have received little other correction than what could
be given by interlineation. Throughout, however, not the least violence
is done to the facts; to insure the purity of which, the M. S. has been
read over to Metcalf himself, and corrected by his desire, wherever any
little accidental error has appeared.

Though it was absolutely necessary to bring the style into something
like grammatical order, and to purge it of barbarisms, yet pains have
been taken to preserve its simplicity; and in some instances, where a
few sentences of dialogue are introduced, the original words remain.
Imperfect as it is, a hope is nevertheless entertained that it will
prove amusing; and happy shall the Author of its Apology be, if the
profits arising from the sale shall prove of sufficient value to smooth
the decline of a life, which, though marked by eccentricity, has not
been spent in vain.




THE

LIFE

OF

_JOHN METCALF_.


John Metcalf was born at Knaresborough, on the 15th of August, 1717.
When four years old, he was put to school by his parents, who were
working people, and continued at school two years: He was then seized
with the small-pox, which rendered him totally blind, though all
possible means were used to preserve his sight.

About six months after recovering from the small-pox, he was able to go
from his father’s house to the end of the street, and return, without
a guide; which gave him much spirit and satisfaction.—In the space
of three years he was able to find his way to any part of the town of
Knaresborough; and had begun to associate with boys of his own age,
going with them to seek birds’ nests, and for his share of the eggs and
young birds he was to climb the trees, whilst his comrades waited at
the bottom, to direct him to the nests, and to receive what he should
throw down; and from this he was soon able to climb any tree he was
able to grasp. He would now ramble into the lanes and fields alone,
to the distance of two or three miles, and return. His father keeping
horses, he learned to ride, and in time became an able horseman, a
gallop being his favourite pace. His parents having other children,
at the age of thirteen had John taught music, at which he proved very
expert; though he had conceived more taste for the cry of a hound or a
harrier, than the sound of any instrument.

A gentleman at Knaresborough, of the name of Woodburn, was master
of a pack of hounds:—This gentleman encouraged Metcalf very much,
by taking him to hunt with him, and was always very desirous of his
company. Metcalf kept a couple of very good hounds of his own.

Mr. Woodburn’s hounds being seldom kennelled, Metcalf used to take
several of them out secretly along with his own, about ten or eleven
o’clock at night, (the hares being then feeding); but one of the
young hounds happening to worry a couple of lambs, it caused him to
discontinue that practise.

When about fourteen years old, his activity of limbs, and the good
success with which his exploits were usually attended, consoled him so
greatly for the deprivation of sight, that he was lead to imagine it
was in his power to undertake any thing, without danger: the following
adventure, however, caused him to alter his opinion of its value.

There happened to be a plumb-tree a little way from Knaresborough,
where there had been a house formerly.—One Sunday, Metcalf and his
companions (who were skilled in matters of this sort) would go there,
to get some of the fruit; in these cases, Metcalf was always appointed
to ascend, for the purpose of shaking the trees. He was accordingly
sent up to his post; but in the height of the business, his companions
gathering below were suddenly alarmed by the appearance of the owner of
the tree, and prepared to quit the ground with all expedition:—Metcalf
thus left to himself, soon understood how matters were going, though
the wind was high, which prevented him from hearing distinctly; and
being inclined to follow his comrades, in making his retreat he fell
headlong into a gravel-pit belonging to Sir Harry Singsby, and cut a
large gash in his face, without, however, receiving any other injury
than a stun which for some time hindered his breathing, and kept him
motionless on the ground.—His father being rather severe, Metcalf
was afraid to go home, lest his wound should lead to a discovery of the
prank he had been engaged in.

Soon after this, (though not easily dismayed) he and some other boys
were completely alarmed:—The church-porch at Knaresborough being the
usual place of their meeting, they one night between eleven and twelve
o’clock assembled there; Metcalf being generally the chief projector
of their plans: They determined to rob an orchard; which having done,
they returned to the church-porch to divide their booty. Before their
return, a circumstance had happened to which they were strangers, but
to the discovery of which the following little incident led, though
not immediately: There being a large ring to the church-door, which
turned for the purpose of lifting the latch, one of the party took hold
of it, and, by of bravado, gave a loud rap; calling out, “_A tankard
of ale here!_” A voice from within answered, very loudly, “_You are
at the wrong house._” This so stupified the whole covey, that none of
them could move for some time. At length, Metcalf said, “Did you not
hear something speak in the church?” Upon this, they all took to their
heels, and ran till they got out of the church-yard, Metcalf running
as fast as any of them. They now held a consultation on the subject
of their fright, all equally wondering at the voice, and none able to
account satisfactorily for it—One supposed that it might have been
some brother wag, who had put his mouth to the key-hole of the North
door; but to this it was objected, that the reply was too distinct and
too ready to have come in that way. At length, however, their spirits
being a little raised, they ventured again down the flagged pavement
into the church-yard; but when they came opposite to the church, they
perceived a light, so great as inclined them to believe that the
church was on fire. They now re-entered the church-porch, and were
nearly determined to call the parson; when somebody within lifting the
latch and making a great noise, they again dispersed, terrified and
speechless. One of the party, (whose name was Clemishaw) a son of the
sexton, ran home, and in a desperate fright got into bed with his
mother; all the rest, at the same time, making the best of their way.

The cause of this panic was as follows:—An old lady, wife of Dr.
Talbot, (who had for many years enjoyed the living of Spofforth) dying,
and her relations, who lived at a great distance, being desirous to
arrive before her interment, ordered the body to be kept; this being
too long the case, and the neighbours perceiving a disagreeable smell,
a request was sent to the Rev. Mr. Collins, who ordered the sexton to
be called up to dig the grave in the church immediately: the sexton had
lighted a great number of candles: so much for the supposition of the
church being on fire; and the grave-digger was the person whose voice
had so terrified the apple-merchants, when they knocked. Such, however,
was the impression, that pranks of this nature were not repeated.

About the year 1731, Metcalf being then fourteen years of age, a number
of men and boys made a practice of swimming in the river Nidd, where
there are many deeps convenient for that purpose.—Metcalf resolving to
learn that art, joined the party, and became so very expert, that his
companions did not chuse to come near him in the water, it being his
custom to seize them, send them to the bottom, and swim over them by
way of diversion.

About this time, a soldier and another man were drowned in the above
deeps: the former, it was supposed, was taken with the cramp; the
latter could not swim. Metcalf was sent for to get up the bodies, and
at the fourth time of diving succeeded in bringing up that of the
soldier, which, when raised to the surface, other swimmers carried on
shore; but life had quite left it. The other body could not then be
found.

There are very frequent floods in the river Nidd; and it is a
remarkable fact, that in the deep places, there are eddies, or
some other causes of attraction, which will draw to the bottom any
substance, however light, which comes within their sphere of action.
Large pieces of timber were often seen to be carried down by the
floods; these, on coming over the deep places, were stopped for the
space of a moment, and then sunk. Upon these occasions, Metcalf would
go down and with the greatest ease fix ropes to the wood, which was
drawn up by some persons purposely stationed on the banks.

In the year 1732, one John Barker kept an inn at the West end of the
High Bridge, Knaresborough. This man was a manufacturer of linen cloth,
and used to bleach his own yarn. At one time, having brought two packs
of yarn to the river to wash, he thought he observed a number of
wool-packs rolling towards him; but on a nearer view it proved to be a
swelling of the current, occasioned by a sudden and very violent rain
in the neighbourhood. He had not time to remove his yarn, so that it
was swept away, and carried through the arches of the bridge, which
stands on a rock. A little below there is a piece of still water,
supposed to be about twenty-one feet in depth: as soon as the yarn
got to this, it sunk, except a little which caught the skirts of the
rock in going down. Metcalf being intimate with Barker, and calling at
his house a few days after the accident, found him lamenting his lost.
Metcalf told him that he hoped to recover his yarn for him, but Barker
smiled at the supposed absurdity of the proposal: finding, however,
that his friend was resolved on a trial, he consented. Metcalf then
ordered some long cart-ropes to be procured, and fixing a hook at one
end, and leaving the other to be held by some persons on the High
Bridge, he descended, and hooking as much of the yarn as he could at
one time, he gave orders for drawing up. In this way the whole was
recovered, with very little damage.

Some time after this, Metcalf happened to be at Scriven, at the house
of one Green, an innkeeper.—Two persons then present had a dispute
concerning some sheep which one of them had put into the penfold. The
owner of the sheep, (one Robert Scaif, a Knaresborough man, and a
friend of Metcalf’s) appeared to be ill treated by the other party,
who wished to take an unfair advantage. Metcalf perceiving that they
were not likely to agree about the damages, bade them good night,
saying he was going to Knaresborough, but it being about the dead time
of night, he was firmly resolved to do a little friendly business
before he should get home. The penfold being walled round, he climbed
over, and getting hold of the sheep one by one, he fairly tossed them
over the wall: the difficulty of the service increased as the number
got less, not being so ready to catch;—he was not, however, thereby
deterred, but fully completed the exploit.

On the return of day, the penfold door being found fast locked, great
was the surprise on finding it untenanted, and various the conjectures
as to the rogue or rogues who had liberated the sheep; but Metcalf past
unsuspected, and enjoyed the joke in silence.

He continued to practice on the violin, until he became able to play
country dances. At Knaresborough, during the winter season, there was
an assembly every fortnight, at which he always attended, and went
besides to many other places where there was public dancing; yet,
though much employed in this way, he still retained his fondness for
hunting, and likewise began to keep game cocks. Whenever he went to a
cock-pit, it was his custom to place himself on the lowest seat, and
always close to some friend who was a good judge, and who, by certain
motions, enabled him to bet, hedge, &c. If at any time he heard of a
better game cock than his own, he was sure to get him by some means or
other, though at a hundred miles distance.

A little way from home he had a cock-walk, and at the next house there
chanced to be another. The owner of the cock at the latter house
supposing that Metcalf’s and his would meet, armed his own cock with
a steel spur; which greatly displeasing Metcalf, he formed a plan of
revenge; and getting one of his comrades to assist, they procured a
quantity of cabbage-leaves, and fastening them together with skewers,
they fixed them against the outside of the windows, that the family
might not perceive the return of day-light; and that they should also
be prisoners, their associates in roguery walled up the door with
stones, and mud-mortar, which they were assisted in making by the
convenience of a pump which stood near. They then brought water, in
tubs, and continued pouring it in great quantities over the new wall,
(which did not reach quite up to the top of the door-frame) until the
house was flooded to a great depth. This done, they made the best of
their way home.

In the morning, the people of the house finding their situation, and
being at no loss to suppose who had been the projector, and in all
probability the leading performer, of the business, were no sooner set
at liberty, than they went to a Justice, and got a warrant for Metcalf;
but not being able to prove the fact, he was, of course, dismissed.

His fame now began to spread; and when any arch trick was done,
inquiry was sure to be made where Metcalf had been at the time.

At Bilton, two miles from Knaresborough, there was a rookery, and the
boys had made many attempts to take the young ones; but the owner
wishing to preserve them, they were prevented. Metcalf determining to
make a trial, sent one of his comrades in the day-time as a spy to
reconnoitre the position of the nests; and having been informed by
him as to this, they set out in the dead of night, and brought away
seven dozen and a half, excepting the _heads_, which they left under
the trees. The owner of the rooks finding the heads, sent the bellman
round, offering a reward of two guineas for discovering the offenders:
the secret, however, was kept until long afterwards.

A man at Knaresborough having married a woman who had lived at a
farm-house about a mile distant, brought his wife to his own home; and
some articles being left in the deserted house, he sent a son he had
by a former marriage to bring them away.—Metcalf being about the
same age as this boy, chose to accompany him. When they got to the
place, the boy missed the key, which he had lost from his pocket by
the way; and being afraid to return without his errand, he consulted
Metcalf about what was to be done. Metcalf was for entering the house
at all events; and not being able to procure a ladder, got a pole,
which reached to the thatch, and having borrowed a rope and a stick,
he climbed up the pole, and then ascending by the roof to the chimney,
he placed the stick across, and fastening the rope to it, attempted to
descend, but finding the flew too narrow, he threw off his cloaths,
and laying them on the ridge of the house, made a second attempt, and
succeeded: he then opened the door for his companion. While they were
in the house, there was a heavy thunder-shower, to which Metcalf’s
cloathes were exposed, being left upon the house-top: he attempted to
get up again, to fetch them; but the pole by which he had ascended was
now so wet, that he could not climb by it; he was therefore obliged to
wait until it dried, when ascending again, he recovered his cloathes.
This was considered by all who heard of it as a very extraordinary
performance by one in his situation, as well as a great act of
friendship to his companion.

In the year 1732 Metcalf was invited to Harrogate, to succeed, as
fidler, a poor old man who had played there for 70 years, and who,
being borne down by the weight of 100 years, began to play too slow
for country dancing. Metcalf was well received by the nobility and
gentry, who employed no other fidler, except a boy whom he hired as an
assistant, when they began to build a long-room at the Queen’s Head.

Being once, with his assistant, at Ripon assembly, they resolved to
call the next day at Newby Hall, the seat of ’Squire Blacket; having
got acquainted with that worthy family by their frequent visits to
Harrogate. There they stayed, regaling themselves, till near night,
when they set out for home. In the way, they had to cross the river
Ure by a ford, or go round by Boroughbridge or Ripon, which latter
Metcalf was not inclined to do. They were told that the ford would
be found impassable, much rain having fallen. Metcalf, however, was
determined to try; but on coming to the water-side, he found his
companion was much in liquor, and began to doubt of _his_ getting
over: as for himself, he had no fear, being a good swimmer.—So it was
agreed that Metcalf should strip, and (leaving his cloathes to the care
of his friend) lead his horse over, and thereby prove whether or not
it was safe for his comrade to follow. By this means they got over,
but not before it was dark. He then began to dress himself, but his
waistcoat (in which were the three joints of his hautboy) was missing,
as also his silver shoe-buckles, and seventeen shillings which fell
from his pocket. This was an unpleasant accident, but there being no
present remedy, they made the best of their way to Copgrove, where they
rested. Metcalf listened diligently to the clock, and after some hours,
supposing the waters to have abated, (which was the case,) he returned,
and found his seventeen shillings on the bank, and a buckle on each
side of the water. The waistcoat and hautboy he could never recover,
although he carefully drew the deeps with a gardener’s iron rake, which
he had procured for that purpose at Newby Hall.

Metcalf now bought a horse, and often ran him for small plates. He
still continued to be a cocker—often hunted—and sometimes went a
coursing; in the evenings he attended to play at the assemblies:
finding, from these various pursuits, pretty sufficient employment.
Being greatly encouraged by the gentlemen, he began to think himself of
that class, excepting that his _rents_ failed to come in half-yearly
from his tenants.

About this time there was a long-room built at the Green-Dragon at
Harrogate. More music being then wanted, he engaged one Midgeley (one
of the Leeds waits) and his son, as assistants. Midgeley, sen. being
a good performer, was taken into partnership gratis; but the son, and
Metcalf’s former assistant, paid five pounds each premium. This was
done with the approbation of all the innkeepers, who wished to keep
Metcalf at the head of the band.

In the year 1735, Francis Barlow, Esq. of Middlethorp, near York, who
kept a pack of beagles, was at Harrogate, and liking Metcalf, gave him
an invitation to spend the winter at Middlethorp, desiring him to bring
his horse: the invitation was gladly accepted, and he went out with Mr.
Barlow’s hounds twice a week, highly gratified in the enjoyment of his
favourite sport. While at Middlethorp, he was invited by Mr. Hebdin,
an eminent musician, of York, to come to his house, and play, offering
him, gratis, any service or instruction in his power: this kind offer
Metcalf readily accepted, and went to practice music on those days when
there was no hunting.

He had now completed a visit of six months to the worthy ’Squire of
Middlethorpe;—and the hunting season being almost over, he proposed
to his patron to take a farewell hunt in the forenoon, intending
to proceed to Knaresborough in the evening.—He accordingly set
out with the hounds in the morning; returned with the ’Squire at
noon; got himself and his horse well fed and _watered_, and then
proceeded to York, to take leave of Mr. Hebdin, previous to his going
home. He had learned to walk and ride very readily through most of
the streets of York; and as he was riding past the George Inn, in
Coneystreet, Standish, the landlord, stopped him, calling out “What
haste?” Metcalf told him he was for Knaresborough that night—The
landlord replied, that there was a gentleman in the house who wanted
a guide to Harrogate; adding, “I know you can do that as well as any
one.”—“So I can,” said he, “but you must not let him know that I
am blind, for perhaps he will be afraid to trust me.”—“_I_ shall
manage that,” replied Standish; so going in, he informed the gentleman
that he had procured him a safe guide. Pleased at this, the gentleman
requested that Metcalf would come in and take a bottle: this (for an
obvious reason) the landlord objected to on the part of Metcalf, but
recommended some wine at the door; during the drinking of which, the
stranger got ready, and they set off, Metcalf taking the lead. As they
were turning Ousegate corner, a voice halloed out “_’Squire Barlow’s
Blind Huntsman!_” but the gentleman not knowing the meaning of this,
they rode briskly up Micklegate, through the Bar, turned the corner
to Holgate, and through Poppleton Field on to Hessay Moor, and so
proceeded forward, going over Skip-Bridge. (At this time the turnpike
was not made between York and Harrogate.)

On the North-West end of Kirk-Hammerton Moor, the road to Knaresborough
joined the main road which leads to Boroughbridge by a sudden turn
to the left; but Metcalf cleared that without any difficulty. When
they came to Allerton-Mauleverer, the stranger asked whose large house
that was on the right; and was immediately informed by Metcalf. A
little farther on, the road is crossed by the one from Wetherby to
Boroughbridge, and proceeds along by the high brick wall of Allerton
Park. There was a road leading out of the Park, opposite to the gate
upon the Knaresborough road, which Metcalf was afraid of missing; but
the wind being from the East, and he perceiving a blast coming through
the Park-gate, he readily turned his horse to the opposite gate which
leads to Knaresborough. Reaching out his hand to open it, he felt the
heel, as it is called; and, backing his horse, exclaimed “Confound
thee! thou always goes to the gate heel, instead of the head.” The
gentleman observed to him that his horse seemed aukward, and that his
own mare was good at coming up to a gate; whereupon Metcalf permitted
him to perform this office. Darkness (which had now come on) being no
obstruction to him, he briskly led the way, resolved that his companion
should not again see his face till they got to Harrogate. As they were
going through Knaresborough, the gentleman proposed a glass of wine,
which Metcalf refused, alledging that the horses were hot, and that
being near their journey’s end, it was not worth while to stop:—On
then they went; and presently some one cried out “_That’s Blind
Jack!_”—This assertion, however, was contradicted by another person
who could not clearly identify him; and by this means the stranger was
kept in the _dark_ as effectually as his guide. They then proceeded
over the High Bridge, and up the Forest Lane, and then entering the
Forest, they had to pass along a narrow causeway which reached about
one-third of the way to Harrogate. When they had gone a little way upon
the Forest, the gentleman saw a light, and asked what place it was.
There were some rocks upon the Forest called Hookston Craggs, and near
to these the ground was low and swampy in some places, close by which
lays the Leeds road;—about this part were frequently seen at night,
vapours, commonly called Will-o’-the-wisp. Metcalf took it for granted
that his companion had seen one of these, but for good reasons declined
asking him whereabout the light was; and to divert his attention from
this object, asked him, “Do you not see two lights; one to the right,
the other to the left?” “No,” replied the gentleman; “I seen but one
light, that there on the right.”—“Well then, Sir,” said Metcalf, “that
is Harrogate.” There were then many tracks, but Metcalf made choice of
that nearest the fence: by the side of this path, which is very near
Harrogate, some larches were planted; and stepping-stones laid for
the convenience of foot-passengers: Metcalf got upon this stony path,
and the gentleman’s horse following, got one of his hind feet jammed
between two of the stones: when his horse was freed, he asked “Is there
no other road?” “Yes,” replied Metcalf, “there is another, but it is a
mile about:” knowing at the same time that there was a dirty cart-way
just at hand, but to which upon some account he preferred this rugged
path.

Arrived at their journey’s end, they stopped at the house now called
the Granby, but found that the ostler was gone to bed.—Metcalf being
very well acquainted with the place, led both the horses into the
stable, and the ostler soon after appearing, he delivered them to his
care, and went into the house to inquire after his fellow-traveller,
whom he found comfortably seated over a tankard of negus, in which he
pledged his guide; but when Metcalf attempted to take the tankard,
he reached out his hand wide of the mark: however, he soon found it,
and drank; and going out again, left to the landlord the opportunity
of explaining to his companion what he was not yet sensible of.—“I
think, landlord,” said the gentleman, “my guide must have drank a great
deal of spirits since we came here.”—“Why, my good Sir, do you think
so?”—“Well, I judge so from the appearance of his _eyes_.”—“_Eyes!_
bless you, Sir,” rejoined the landlord, “do not you know that he is
BLIND?”—“What do you mean by that?”—“I mean, Sir, that _he cannot
see_.”—“BLIND! Gracious God!!”—“Yes, Sir; as blind as a stone, by
Heaven!”—“Well, landlord,” said the gentleman, “this is too much: call
him in.” Metcalf enters. “My friend, are you really blind?”—“Yes,
Sir; I lost my sight when six years old.”—“Had I known that, I would
not have ventured with you for an hundred pounds.”—“And I, Sir,” said
Metcalf, “would not have lost my way for a thousand.” This conversation
ended, they sat down, and drank plentifully. Metcalf had with him a
case containing a new fiddle which he had just received from London,
and the gentleman observing it, desired him to play: the guide gave
him as much satisfaction in this way, as he had before done in the
character of a conductor; and the services of the evening were rewarded
by a present of two guineas, besides a plentiful entertainment the
next day, at the cost of this gentleman, who looked upon the adventure
with Metcalf as the most extraordinary incident he had ever met with.

1736. The Harrogate season now commencing, Metcalf, of course, resumed
his occupation; and, being of a jocular and comic turn, was so well
received at all the inns, that he obtained free quarters for himself
and horse.

The Green Dragon at that place was then kept by a Mr. Body, who had
two nephews with him; and when the hunting season drew near its close,
these with some other young men expressed a great desire for a day’s
sport; and knowing that Mr. Woodburn, the master of the Knaresborough
pack of hounds, had often lent them to Metcalf for the same purpose,
they doubted not of the success of _his_ application: being, however,
unprovided with hunters, they were obliged to defer the day for near a
fortnight before they could be accommodated.

On the evening before the appointed day, Metcalf went, flushed with
hope, to Mr. Woodburn, requesting him to lend the pack for the next
day. This was a favour out of his power to grant, having engaged to
meet ’Squire Trapps, with the hounds, next morning, upon Scotton Moor,
for the purpose of entering some young fox-hounds.—Chagrined at this,
Metcalf debated with himself whether the disappointment should fall to
Mr. Woodburn’s friends, or his own: determining that it should not be
the lot of the latter, he arose the next morning before day-break, and
crossed the High Bridge near which he had the advantage of the joint
echos of the Old Castle and Belmont Wood. He had brought with him an
extraordinary good hound of his own, and taking him by the ears, made
him give mouth very loudly, himself giving some halloos at the same
time. This device had so good an effect, that in a few minutes he had
nine couple about him, as the hounds were kept by various people about
the shambles, &c. and were suffered to lay unkennelled. Mounting
his horse, away he rode with the dogs to Harrogate, where he met his
friends, ready mounted, and in high spirits. Some of them proposed
going to Bilton Wood; but this was opposed by Metcalf, who preferred
the Moor; in fact, he was apprehensive of being followed by Mr.
Woodburn, and wished to be further from Knaresborough upon that account.

Pursuant to his advice, they drew the Moor, at the distance of five
miles, where they started a hare, killed her after a fine chace, and
immediately put up another:—just at this moment came up Mr. Woodburn,
foaming with anger, swearing most terribly, and threatening to send
Metcalf to the devil, or at least to the house of correction; and, his
passion rising to the utmost, rode up with an intention to horsewhip
him, which Metcalf prevented, by galloping out of his reach.—Mr.
Woodburn then endeavoured to call off the hounds; but Metcalf, knowing
the fleetness of his own horse, ventured within speaking, though not
within _whipping_, distance of him, and begged that he would permit
the dogs to finish the chace, alledging that it would spoil them to
take them off; and that he was sure they would (as they actually did)
kill in a very short time. Metcalf soon found that Mr. Woodburn’s
anger had begun to abate; and going nearer to him, pleaded in excuse
a misunderstanding of his plan, which he said he thought had been
fixed for the day after. The apology succeeded with this good-natured
gentleman, who, giving the hare to Metcalf, desired he would accompany
him to Scotton Moor, whither, though late, he would go, rather than
wholly disappoint Mr. Trapps. The reader, by this time, knows enough of
Metcalf to believe he was not averse to this proposal; so leaving the
hares with his comrades, and engaging to be with them in the evening,
he joined his old associate. The day being advanced, Metcalf objected
to the circuitous way of Harrogate Bridge, proposing to cross the river
Nidd at Holm Bottom; and Mr. Woodburn not being acquainted with the
ford, he again undertook the office of guide, and leading the way,
they soon arrived at Scotton Moor, where Mr. Trapps and his company
had waited for them two hours. Mr. Woodburn explained the cause of the
delay, and, being now able to participate in the joke, the affair ended
very agreeably.

Metcalf stayed with this company until three in the afternoon, and then
set off for Harrogate, crossing the river. He had not tasted food that
day; but when he got to his friends, he found them preparing the brace
of hares, with many other good things, for supper; and after spending
many jovial hours, he played country-dances till day-light.

When the Harrogate season was over, it was Metcalf’s constant custom to
visit at the inns, always spending the evening at one or other of them.
At the Royal Oak (now the Granby) in particular, scenes of mirth were
often going forward; and at these he greatly attracted the notice of
one of the landlord’s daughters.

In the summer he used often to run his horse for the petty plates or
prizes given at the feasts in the neighbourhood; and on all these
occasions, when in her power, she was sure to attend, with her female
friends. By frequent intercourse, the lady and Metcalf became very
intimate; and this intimacy produced mutual regard and confidence.
Her mother being a high-spirited woman, had brought up her daughters,
as she hoped at least, with notions ill suited to the condition of
Metcalf; so that in order to disguise the state of their hearts
from her parents, the lovers agreed on a set of names and phrases,
intelligible to each other, though not so to them. He used to call
himself Mary, or Tibby, (at once changing the sex, and speaking as
if of a third person); and she, Harry, or Dickey, or some such name.
Whenever he sought to intimate to her his intention of visiting her,
he would say, “You must tell Richard that Mary will be here on such
a day.” Her mother would perhaps ask, “Who is that?” To which she
would reply, that it was a young woman who was to meet her brother
there.—But if the day appointed by Metcalf was not convenient, she
would say, that “Richard had called, and had left word that Mary should
call again at such a time;” meaning the time she wished Metcalf to
come.—And as she commonly fastened the doors, when she expected him
she always left a door or a window open.

One night, in particular, Metcalf having, in consequence of an
appointment, arrived there about midnight, and got in by a window that
had been designedly left open; in his way to the _young_ woman’s room,
he met the _old_ one in the middle of the stair-case! Both parties were
much surprised; and the mistress asking angrily “Who’s there?” “What
do you want?” he knowing that she always went to bed early, replied “I
came in late last night, sat down in a chair by the fire-side, and fell
fast asleep.” She then called loudly to her daughter, “Why did you not
shew Jack to bed?” “I was not to sit up all night for him;” replied the
lass. He then pursued his way up stairs, and the girl conducted him to
a bed-room.

In summer he would often play at bowls, making the following conditions
with his antagonist, viz. to receive the odds of a bowl extra for the
deficiency of an eye.—By these terms he had three for the other’s one.
He took care to place a friend and confidant at the jack, and another
about mid-way; and those, keeping up a constant discourse with him,
enabled him, by their voices, to judge of the distance. The degree of
bias he could always ascertain by feeling; and, odd as it may seem, was
very frequently the winner.

Cards, too, began to engage his attention; all of which he could soon
distinguish, unassisted; and many were the persons of rank who, from
curiosity, played with him, he generally winning the majority of the
games.

But the achievements already enumerated were far from bounding either
his ambition or capacity: He now aspired to the acquaintance of
jockies of a higher class than he had hitherto known, and to this end
frequented the races at York and many other places; when he always
found the better kind of persons inclined to lend him their skill in
making his bets, &c. impressed, as they no doubt were, with sympathy
for his situation, and surprize at his odd propensity.

He commonly rode to the race-ground amongst the crowd; and kept in
memory both the winning and losing horses.

Being much in the habit of visiting York in the winter time, a whim
would often take him to call for his horse at bed-time, and set out
for Knaresborough, regardless of the badness of the roads and weather,
and of all remonstrance from his friends; yet the hand of Providence
always conducted him in safety.—It was quite common for him to go from
Skipton, over the Forest Moor, to Knaresborough, alone; but if he had
company, and it was night, he was, of course, the foremost.

About the year 1738, Metcalf having increased his stud, and being aware
of the docility of that noble animal, the horse, so tutored his own,
that whenever he called them by their respective names, they would
immediately answer him by neighing. This was chiefly accomplished by
some discipline at the time of feeding. He could, however, without the
help of those responses, select his own horses out of any number.

Having matched one of his horses, to run three miles, for a wager
of some note, and the parties agreeing to ride each his own, they
set up posts at certain distances, on the Forest, including a circle
of one mile; having, of course, three rounds to go. Great odds were
laid against Metcalf, upon the supposition of his inability to keep
the course. But what did his ingenuity suggest in this dilemma: or,
rather, what did it anticipate? He procured four dinner-bells from the
different inns, with what others he could borrow; and placing a man,
with a bell, at each post, he was enabled, by the ringing, to turn; and
fully availing himself of the superior fleetness of his horse, came in
winner, amidst the plaudits and exultations of the multitude, except
only those who had betted against him.

A gentleman of the name of Skelton then came up, and proposed to
Metcalf a small wager, that he could not gallop a horse of his fifty
yards, and stop him within two hundred. This horse was notorious as
a run-away, and had baffled the efforts of the best and strongest
riders to hold him. Metcalf agreed to the wager, upon condition that
he might choose his ground; but Skelton objected to there being either
hedge or wall in the distance. Metcalf, every ready at any thing that
was likely to produce a joke, agreed; the stakes were deposited; and
knowing that there was a large bog near the Old Spa at Harrogate, he
mounted at about the distance of an hundred and fifty yards from it.
Having observed the wind, and placed a person who was to sing a song,
for the guidance of sound, he set off, at full gallop, for the bog, and
soon fixed the horse saddle-skirt deep in the mire. He then floundered
through the dirt as well as he was able, till he gained a firm footing;
when he demanded his wager, which was allotted him by the general
suffrage. It was with the greatest difficulty, however, that the horse
could be extricated.——That Metcalf was so well acquainted with this
spot, was owing to his having, about three weeks before, relieved a
stranger who had got fast in it in the night, and whose cries had
attracted him.

It was now no unusual thing with him to buy horses, with a view to
sell them again. Happening to meet with a man who had left the place
of huntsman to a pack of subscription hounds kept by Sir John Kaye,
’Squire Hawkesworth, and others, and who had a horse to sell, Metcalf
inquired his price, at the same time requesting permission to ride him
a little way. Having trotted the horse a mile or two, he returned,
telling the owner that the _eyes_ of his nag would soon fail. The man,
however, stood firm to his demand of twenty-five guineas for the horse,
alledging that he was beautifully moulded, only six years old, and his
action good. Metcalf then took the man into the stable, and desired
him to lay his hand upon the eyes of the horse, to feel their uncommon
heat; asking him, at the same time, how he could, in conscience, demand
so great a price for a horse that was going blind. This treaty ended
with Metcalf’s purchasing the horse, bridle, and saddle, for fourteen
pounds.

A few days after, as he was riding on his new purchase, he ran against
a sign-post, upon the Common, near the Toy-Shop, and nearly threw it
down. Not discouraged by this, he set off for Ripon, to play at an
assembly; and passing by a place at Harrogate called the World’s-End,
he overtook a man going the Ripon road.—With him Metcalf laid a wager
of six-pennyworth of liquor, that he would get first to an alehouse at
some small distance. The ground being rough, Metcalf’s horse soon fell,
and lay for a while on the thigh of his master, when, making an effort
to rise, he cut Metcalf’s face with one of his fore shoes. The Rev. Mr.
Richardson coming up at this moment, and expressing his concern for the
accident, Metcalf told him that nothing had hurt him but the cowardice
of his horse, who had _struck him whilst he was down_. His instrument,
however, suffered so materially, that he was obliged to borrow one
to perform on for the night, at Ripon, to which place he got without
further accident. The assembly over, he set off to return to Harrogate,
and arrived there about three in the morning.

He now thought it was time to dispose of his fine horse, whose eyes
began to discharge much. After applying the usual remedies of allum
blown into the eyes, roweling in different parts, &c. he found him in
marketable condition; and knowing that there would soon be a great shew
of horses without Micklegate-Bar, at York, he resolved to take the
chance of that mart; and setting out the night before, put up at the
Swan, in Micklegate. The next morning, when the shew began, Metcalf’s
nag attracted the notice of one Carter, a very extensive dealer, who
asking the price, was told twenty-two guineas. Carter then inquired if
he was sound, and received for answer, “I have never known him _lame_;
but I shall trot him on this pavement, and if there be any ailment of
that kind, it will soon appear, with my weight.” The dealer bade him
sixteen guineas, and a little after, seventeen; which Metcalf, for
well-known reasons, was glad to receive.

Having sold his horse, he set off on foot for Harrogate; but before
he had got to Holgate (about a mile on his way) he was overtaken by a
Knaresborough man, on horseback, who proposed, for two shillings-worth
of punch, to let him ride in turn, dividing the distances equally.
Metcalf thought the man was unreasonable in his demand, but agreed to
it at length; and giving his companion one tankard, he, by consent, got
the first ride, with instructions to the following effect, viz. That
he should ride on till he got a little beyond Poppleton-Field, where
he would _see_ a gate on his right hand, to which he should fasten the
horse, and leaving him for the owner, proceed. Metcalf not _seeing_
the gate, as described, rode on to Knaresborough, which was seventeen
miles from the place where he had left his fellow-traveller. He then
left the horse at the owner’s house, saying that the master having got
into a return-chaise, had desired him to ride the horse home.—— The
owner was greatly enraged at being left to walk so long a way; but,
on Metcalf’s pleading that he never _saw_ the gate, he found it his
interest to join in the laugh.

Being now in the prime of life, and possessing a peculiar archness
of disposition, with an unceasing flow of spirits, and a contempt of
danger, seldom if ever equalled by one in his circumstances, it will
not be wondered at that levities, such as are before recited, should
have employed a considerable portion of his time. The sequel, however,
will, in due course, shew, that he was capable of embarking in, and
bringing to perfection, several schemes, of public as well as private
utility; and this promise to the reader, it is hoped, will insure his
patience, while he is made the companion of the author in a few more of
his frolicsome adventures.

In the year 1738 Metcalf attained the age of twenty-one years, and the
height of six feet one inch and an half, and was remarkably robust
withal.

At that time there lived at Knaresborough one John Bake, a man of
a ferocious temper and athletic figure. He was considered in the
neighbourhood as a champion, or rather bully; and thus qualified, was
often employed _specially_, to serve writs or warrants, in cases where
desperate resistance was expected. Metcalf going one evening, with a
friend, to a public house, they there met this Bake; and a short time
after, Metcalf’s and Bake sat down to cards. The latter took some
money off the table, to which he was not entitled; and the former
remonstrating on the injustice of Bake, received from him a violent
blow. Metcalf interposing with words only at first, was treated in the
same manner; when instantly entering into combat with this ruffian, he
bestowed upon him such discipline as soon extorted a cry for mercy.

To the fame which Metcalf had acquired by various means, was now added
that of a boxer, though he was far from being ambitious of celebrity
in that way. Some little time after, Metcalf was called up at midnight
by this very Bake, who, knowing by experience the prowess and powers
of his late antagonist, had presumed to make a bet of five guineas,
that Metcalf would beat a fellow whose company he had just left.—But
Metcalf gave him to understand, that, although he had store of thumps
for those who should treat him with insolence, he was no prize-fighter;
and having no quarrel with the man in question, he (Bake) might fight
or forfeit as he liked best.

Being desirous of getting a little fish, he once, unassisted, drew a
net of eighty yards length, in the deepest part of the river Wharfe,
for three hours together. At one time he held the lines in his mouth,
being obliged to swim.

The following wager he laid, and won: He engaged with a man at the
Queen’s Head at Harrogate, to go to Knaresborough Cross, and return, in
less time than the other would gather one hundred and twenty stones,
laid at regular distances of a yard each, and, taking one stone at a
time, put them all into a basket placed at one end of the line.

Meeting with some company, amongst whom there was one of a boastful
turn, Metcalf proposed to go against him from Harrogate to
Knaresborough Cross, provided he would take the way which Metcalf
should choose. To this the other agreed, believing that he could easily
keep pace with Metcalf till he should arrive within sight of the
Cross, and that he could then push forward, and beat him. But when
they got within half a mile of the town, Metcalf quitted the road which
leads over the High Bridge, and, knowing that his antagonist could not
swim, made for a deep part of the river above Bridge, and divesting
himself of his upper drapery, swam across; at the same time calling
out jeeringly to his adversary, “that he hoped for the pleasure of his
company up to the Cross.” The other, not liking to commit himself to
the water, gave up the wager.

About this time, Dr. Chambers, of Ripon, had a well-made horse, which
he used to hunt; but finding that latterly he became a great stumbler,
he exchanged him with a dealer, who took him to Harrogate, and meeting
with Metcalf, told him he had an excellent hunter to sell at a low
price.—Metcalf desired to try how the horse leaped, and the owner
agreeing, he mounted him, and found that he could go over any wall or
fence, the height of himself when saddled. A bargain was soon struck;
and this happening at the Queen’s Head, several gentlemen who were
witnesses of the horse’s performance invited Metcalf to accompany them,
two days after, to Belmont Wood, where a pack of hounds were to throw
off.

These hounds were the joint property of Francis Trapps, Esq; and his
brother, of Nidd, near Ripley. A pack superior to this was not to be
found in the kingdom; nor were the owners themselves ever excelled in
their attention to their dogs and hunters.

The wished-for day arriving, Metcalf attended the gentlemen, and the
hounds were not long in finding. The fox took away to Plumpton Rocks,
but finding all secure there he made for Stockeld Wood, and found
matters in the same slate as at Plumpton.—He had then run about six
miles. He came back, and crossed the river Nidd near the Old Abbey, and
went on the East side of Knaresborough, to a place called Coney-Garths
(where there were earths) near Scriven. Metcalf’s horse carried him
nobly; pulling hard, and requiring proportionate resistance. The wind
being high, Metcalf lost his hat, but would not stop to recover it;
and coming to Thistle-Hill, near Knaresborough, he resolved to cross
the river at the Abbey-Mill, having often before gone, _on foot_, over
the dam-stones. When he got to the dam, he attended to the noise of
the fall, as a guide, and ranging his horse in a line with the stones,
dashed forward for some part of the way; but the stones being slippery
with a kind of moss, his horse stumbled, but recovered this and a
second blunder: the third time, however, floundering completely, away
went horse and rider into the dam. Metcalf had presence of mind to
disengage his feet from the stirrups, during the descent; but both the
horse and himself were immersed over head in water. He then quitted his
seat, and made for the opposite side, the horse following him. Having
secured his nag, he laid himself down on his back, and held up his
heels to let the water run out of his boots; which done, he quickly
re-mounted, and went up a narrow lane which leads to the road between
Knaresborough and Wetherby; then through some lanes on the North-East
side of Knaresborough; and crossing the Boroughbridge road, he got to
the Coney-Garths, where he found that the whipper-in only had arrived
before him.

Here the fox had earthed, as was expected; and the other horsemen
(who had gone over the Low Bridge, and through the town) after some
time came up.—They were much surprised at finding Metcalf there,
and attributed the soaked condition of himself and horse to profuse
sweating; nor were they undeceived till (giving up the fox) they got
to Scriven, where, upon an explanation of the affair, they laughed
heartily.

In the circle of Metcalf’s acquaintance at Knaresborough were two young
men, whose sister lived with them in the capacity of housekeeper; and
she being of a jocular turn, would often, on Metcalf’s calling at
the house, propose such whimsical schemes to him, as gave him reason
to believe that to laugh and be merry was the chief business of her
life. However, she one evening apprised him of her intention to pay him
a visit in the night, and desired him to leave his door unlocked. A
knowledge of the woman’s mirthful propensity made him at first consider
this as a joke; but, on the other hand, he thought it _possible_ that a
_real_ assignation was intended; and being too gallant to disappoint a
_lady_, he told her he would obey her orders. Too sure for the future
peace of Metcalf, the lady was punctual to her appointment; coming at
the dead time of night to his mother’s house, unawed at passing by
the _church_, whose sanction was wanting. It would be impertinent to
detain the reader on the subject of the meeting: suffice it to say,
that Metcalf too had unfortunately left his scruples at another house.
In a few months after, this tender creature accosted him in the usual
way—“I am ruined!—undone—lost for ever, if you do not make an honest
woman of me!—” &c. &c.

Whatever compunction Metcalf might have felt in a case of confiding
innocence, pleading for the only compensation in his power, he did not
think his conscience very deeply interested in the present: besides,
his heart was strongly attached to his first truly respectable and
worthy mistress.—His business, therefore, was to pacify a troublesome
client, which he did in the best manner he was able. The adventure with
this dulcinea had happened previous to the above-mentioned hunt; but
when Metcalf accompanied the gentlemen from the Coney-Garths to the
village of Scriven, he there heard, on the authority of the landlord of
the inn, that a woman had gone that day to filiate a child to him. He
endeavoured to be merry on the occasion, alledging, that it could not
be so, as he had not _seen_ the woman for several years. This produced
a laugh among the company; but with Metcalf it soon took a more serious
turn. On his return to Harrogate he employed his fellow-fidler to
procure a meeting between him and his favourite, Dorothy Benson, which
was effected with some difficulty; and he took this occasion to inform
her of his disgrace, judging it better to be before-hand with her, in
a matter which could not be long concealed.—“Ah! John,” replied she,
“thou hast got into a sad scrape: but I intreat thee, do not think
of marrying her.” Having quieted the fears of his favourite on that
score, he desired his assistant to go with him to Knaresborough, to
_sound the coast_; but before they had got half way, his companion
exclaimed, “Here is the Town-Officer coming!” Metcalf proposed walking
smartly on, without noticing him; but when they got near, the Officer,
who was a Quaker, called out, “Stop, I want to speak with thee.” He
then explained his errand, and pressed Metcalf much to marry the
woman; to which he replied, that he had no thoughts of marriage, and
desired to know whether for thirty or forty pounds in money the matter
might be made up. “Yea, friend,” said Jonathan, “perhaps I can settle
the affair for thee on those terms.” On this, Metcalf observed to
him, that he must go to Harrogate, his money being there. The Quaker
agreeing, they went together to a public-house, where Metcalf called
for a tankard of punch, drank part of it, and seeming very chearful,
said, “I must go and collect my money: as it is in various hands,
perhaps it will be an hour or more before I can return; so drink your
punch, and call for more.” This pretext succeeding, he left Jonathan
to regale himself at his own suit; and choosing the most private way
to a thick wood, he there secreted himself all day. After some hours
waiting, the man of the broad brim lost all patience, and set out in
quest of his profane ward; when meeting a gentleman, he thus accosted
him: “Friend! have thee, perchance, seen a blind fidler?” The gentleman
replied, “I thought that a person of thy cloth had not wanted a
fidler.” “I tell thee I want one at this time,” quoth the Quaker; who,
after some other fruitless inquiries, went home.

At night, Metcalf ventured to break cover; and judging it unsafe to
remain in the neighbourhood of the _hounds_, he gave his assistant
directions to put his little affairs in order—then mounting his horse,
he took the road for Scarborough.

As he was walking one day on the sands, with a friend, he resolved to
take a swim in the sea, his companion agreeing to give him an halloo
when he should think he had gone far enough outward; but the other, not
making a sufficient allowance for the noise of the sea, suffered him
to go out of hearing before he shouted, and Metcalf continued swimming
until he got out of the sight of his friend, who now suspected he
should see him no more. At length he began to reflect, that, should
he proceed on to Holland, he had nothing in his _pocket_ to make him
welcome;—so turning, and removing his hair from his ears, he thought
he heard the breakers beating against the pier which defends the Spa:
finding, by the noise, that he was at a great distance, he increased
his efforts, and happening to be right, he landed in safety, and
relieved his friend from a very painful situation.

Having an aunt at Whitby, near the Allum-works, he went there, left his
horse, and got on board an allum ship bound for London.

In London he met with a North-country man who played on the small
pipes, and who frequented the houses of many gentlemen in town. By
his intelligence Metcalf found out several who were in the habit
of visiting Harrogate; and amongst others, Colonel Liddell, who
resided in King-street, Covent-Garden, and who gave him a general
invitation to his house. The Colonel was a Member of Parliament
for Berwick-upon-Tweed, and lived at Ravensworth-Castle, near
Newcastle-upon-Tyne; and on his return from London into the North,
which generally happened in the month of May, he stopped three weeks at
Harrogate, for a number of years successively.

When the winter was over, Metcalf thought he must take a _look_ out
of London. Accordingly he set out through Kensington, Hammersmith,
Colnbrook, Maidenhead, and Reading, in Berkshire; and returned by
Windsor, and Hampton-Court, to London, in the beginning of May. In his
absence, Colonel Liddell had sent to his lodgings, to let him know that
he was going to Harrogate, and that, if agreeable to him, he might go
down either behind his coach or on the top. Metcalf, on his return,
waited upon the Colonel, and thanked him, but declined his kind offer,
observing, that he could, with great ease, walk as far in a day as he
would choose to travel. The next day, at noon, the Colonel, and his
suite, consisting of sixteen servants on horseback, set off, Metcalf
starting about an hour before them. They were to go by way of Bugden,
and he made his way to Barnet. A little way from Barnet the Bugden and
St. Albans roads part, and he had taken the latter: however, he made
good the destined stage for sleeping, which was Welling, and arrived
a little before the Colonel, who was surprized at his performance.
Metcalf set off again the next morning before his friends, and coming
to Biggleswade, found the road was crossed with water, there being
no bridge at that time. He made a circuitous cast, but found no
other way, except a foot-path which he was dubious of trusting. A
person coming up, asked, “What road are you for?”—He answered, “For
Bugden.” “You have had some liquor this morning, I suppose,” said the
stranger.—“Yes,” replied Metcalf; although he had tasted none that
day. The stranger then bid him follow, and he would bring him into the
highway. Soon after they came to some sluices, with planks laid across,
and Metcalf followed by the sound of his guide’s feet; then to a gate,
on the side of the turnpike, which being locked, he was told to climb
over. Metcalf was struck with the kind attention of his conductor,
and taking twopence from his pocket, said, “Here, good fellow, take
that, and get thee a pint of beer;” but the other declined it, saying
he was welcome. Metcalf, however, pressing the reward upon him, was
asked, “Can you see very well?” “Not remarkably well,” he replied. “My
friend,” said the stranger, “I do not mean to _tythe_ you:—I am Rector
of this parish; and so God bless you, and I wish you a good journey.”
Metcalf set forward with the parson’s benediction, and stopped every
night with the Colonel: On coming to Wetherby, he arrived at the inn
before him, as usual, and told the landlord of his approach, who asked
him by what means he had become acquainted with that, and was informed
by him how he had preceded the Colonel the whole week, this being
Saturday, and they had left town on Monday noon. The Colonel arriving,
ordered Metcalf into his room, and proposed halting till Monday;
but Metcalf replied, “With your leave, Sir, I shall go to Harrogate
to-night, and meet you there on Monday.” In truth, he was anxious to
know the worst respecting the woman who had been the cause of his
journey; and was much pleased to find matters in a better train than
he expected, for being in a comfortable way, and not inclined to be
farther troublesome. Many friends visited him on Sunday, and the next
day the Colonel arrived. But of all his friends, the dearest was at the
Royal Oak: with her he had an affectionate meeting, after an absence
of seven months. During this interval a young man had been paying his
addresses to her; and knowing that Metcalf was acquainted with the
family, he solicited him to use what interest he had in his behalf:
this, when made known to the lady by the man of her heart, afforded
them both great entertainment.

Metcalf became now in great request as a performer at Ripon assembly,
which was resorted to by many families of distinction, such as those
of Sir Walter Blacket of Newby, Sir John Wray, Sir R. Graham, ’Squire
Rhodes, ’Squire Aislaby of Studley, and many others. When he played
alone, it was usual with him, after the assembly, to set off for
Harrogate or Knaresborough; but when he had an assistant, he remained
all night at Ripon to keep him company, his partner being afraid to
ride in the dark.

Finding himself worth fifteen pounds, (a larger sum than he ever before
had to spare) he made his favourite Miss Benson his treasurer; but as
he had not yet begun to speculate in the purchase of _land_, and a
main of cocks being made in the neighbourhood, he became a party, and
drawing his cash from the hands of his fair banker, he lost two-thirds
of his whole fortune.—The remaining five pounds he laid on a horse
which was to run at York a few days after; and though he had the good
fortune to win the last wager, his general imprudence in this way
produced a little shyness from his sweetheart.

His competitor (not suspecting the intimacy between Metcalf
and the young lady) pushed his suit briskly; and after a short
time, banns were published in the churches of Knaresborough and
Kirby-Overblow.—Metcalf was much surprised, having long thought
himself secure of her affection. He now began to believe that she had
laid more stress on his late follies than he had been aware of, and the
remembrance of them gave him exquisite pain, for he loved her tenderly,
and was restrained from proposing marriage to her only by the doubts he
had of being able to support her in the manner she had been accustomed
to. On the other hand, his pride made him disdain to shew that he was
hurt, or to take any measures to prevent the match. The publication
of banns being complete, the wedding-day was appointed.—The supposed
bridegroom had provided an entertainment at his house for upwards of
two hundred people; and going with a few friends to Harrogate on the
Sunday, proposed the following day for the nuptials, which were to
be solemnized at Knaresborough, intending to return to Harrogate to
breakfast, where a bride-cake was ready, with a hamper of wine, which
latter was to have been carried to Kirby, for the use of the guests he
had invited.

On the Sunday, Metcalf riding pretty smartly past the Royal Oak,
towards the Queen’s Head, was loudly accosted in these words—“One
wants to speak with you.” He turned immediately to the stables of the
Oak, and, to his joyful surprise, found there his favourite, who had
sent her mother’s maid to call him. “Well, lass,” said he, “thou’s
going to have a merry day to-morrow; am I to be the fidler?”—“Thou
never shalt fiddle at my wedding,” replied she. “What’s the matter?
What have I done?” said Metcalf.—“Matters may not end,” said she, “as
some folks wish they should.” “What!” said he, “hadst thou rather have
me? Canst thou bear starving?”—“Yes,” said she, “with _thee_ I can!”
“Give me thy hand, then, lass,—skin for skin, it’s all done!”

The girl who had called him being present, he told her, that as she
and his horse were the only witnesses to what had passed, he would
kill the first who should divulge it.—The immediate concern was to
fix on some plan, as Miss Benson was apprehensive of being missed
by her friends.—Jack, ever prompt at an expedient, desired that she
would that night place a lighted candle in one of the windows of the
old house, as soon as the coast was clear, and herself ready to set
off, which will doubtless appear to the reader a very extraordinary
signal to a blind man; but he had conceived measures for carrying the
projected elopement into effect by the assistance of a third person.
This being approved of, she went into the house, and in a short time
was followed by Metcalf, who was warmly received by the supposed
bridegroom and company. The tankard went briskly round with “Success
to the intended couple;” in which toast, it may be readily believed,
Metcalf joined them most cordially.

Having stayed till it was near dark, he thought it time for putting
business into a proper train. Going then to a public house known by
the name of the World’s End, he inquired for the ostler, whom he knew
to be a steady fellow; and after obtaining from this man a promise
either to serve him in an affair of moment in which he was engaged, or
keep the secret, he related the particulars of his assignation, and the
intended elopement; to forward which, he desired him to let them have
his master’s mare, which he knew would carry double.—This agreed on,
he requested the further service of meeting him at the Raffle Shop (now
the Library) at ten o’clock: a whistle was to be given by the first who
got there, as a signal. They met pretty punctually; and Metcalf asked
him if he saw a star, meaning the light before mentioned: he said, he
did not; but in less than half an hour the _star_ was in the place
appointed. They then left the horses at a little distance from the
house, not choosing to venture into the court-yard, it being paved. On
the door being opened by the lady, he asked her if the was ready; to
which she replied in the affirmative.—He advised her, however, to pack
up a gown or two, as she probably might not see her mother again for
some time. The ostler having recommended the lady’s pillion to Metcalf,
in preference to that of his mistress, he asked her for it:—“O dear!”
said she, “it is in the other house; but we must have it.” She then
went to the window and called up her sister, who let her in. The
pillion and cloth were in the room where the supposed bridegroom slept;
and on his seeing her enter, she said, “I’ll take this and brush it,
that it may be ready in the morning.” “That’s well thought on, my
dear,” said he. She then came down, and all three went to the horses.
Metcalf mounted her behind his friend, then got upon his own horse, and
away they went. At that time it was not a matter of so much difficulty
to get married as it is at present; and they, with only the trouble of
riding twelve miles, and at a small expence, were united.

Metcalf left his bride, on his return, at a friend’s house within five
miles of Harrogate, but did not dismount, being in haste to return
the mare he had borrowed with _French leave_. A few minutes after
their return, Mr. Body, the landlord, called for his mare, to go to
Knaresborough, and fortunately she was ready for him.

Metcalf now went to the Queen’s Head, to perform the usual service of
playing during the breakfast half hour. His overnight’s excursion made
him rather thoughtful, having got a _bird_, but no _cage_ for it. While
he was musing on this subject, an acquaintance, who made one of the
intended bridegroom’s company the evening before, came up, and asked
him to take a glass with him. Metcalf quickly guessed what his business
was, but adjourned with him to a private room, seemingly unconcerned.
“Metcalf,” said he “a strange thing has happened since you were with
us last night, concerning Dolly Benson, who was to have been married
this morning to Anthony Dickinson.—You are suspected of knowing
something about the former; and I shall briefly state to you the
consternation which her disappearance has occasioned, and the reasons
why suspicion falls upon you. This morning, early, the bridegroom went
to Knaresborough, and informed the Rev. Mr. Collins that he and his
intended wife were coming that forenoon to be married. In his absence
Mrs. Benson and her other daughter began to prepare for breakfast; and
observing that Dolly lay very long in bed, her mother desired that she
might be called; but her usual bedfellow declaring that she had not
slept with her, she was ordered to seek her in some of the other rooms.
This was done, but in vain. They then took it for granted that she
had taken a ride with Mr. Dickinson; but he returning, could give no
account of her. All her friends began now to be very seriously alarmed;
and, amongst other fearful conjectures, supposed that she might have
fallen into the well, in attempting to draw water for breakfast; and
actually got some iron creepers, and searched the well. Her brother
then took horse, and rode to Burton-Leonard, to a young man who had
slightly paid his addresses to her, and, informing him of the distress
of the family, begged he would give information, if in his power.
The young man immediately asked him if he had seen Blind Jack; he
answered, that you were at the Oak last night, but did not in the least
suspect you.—The other, however, persisted in the opinion that you
were most likely to know where the girl was, and gave the following
incident as a reason: Being, not long since, at a dance, where Miss
Benson made one, he observed her wiping a profuse perspiration from
your face, with an handkerchief; and this act was accompanied by a look
so tender, as left no doubt in his mind of her being strongly attached
to you.”

This narrative (a part of which was no news to Metcalf) was scarcely
finished, when young Benson appeared; and Metcalf put an end to
all inquiry, by declaring the truth: and thinking it his duty to
conciliate, if possible, those whom he had offended, he employed the
softest phrases he was master of on the occasion. He begged pardon,
through their son, of Mr. and Mrs. Benson, whom he did not presume to
call father and mother, and wished them to believe that the warmth of
his passion for their daughter, with the despair of obtaining their
consent, had led him to the measures he had taken; and that he would
make them the best amends in his power, by the affectionate conduct he
should observe to his wife.

The son, in part pacified, left Metcalf, and reported this declaration
to his parents: but they were just as well pleased at it, as they would
have been at the sight of their building in flames; and, in the height
of passion, declared they would put him to death, if they met with him.

The poor forlorn Dickinson then departed, accompanied by one of Mr.
Benson’s sons. When they got near his home, they heard two sets
of bells, viz. those of Folifoot and Kirby Overblow, ringing, in
expectation of the arrival of the bride and groom; but the sound
was more like that of a knell to Dickinson, who fell from his horse
through anguish, but was relieved by the attention of his friend. The
company were surprised at not seeing the bride; but matters were soon
explained, and they were desired to partake of the fare provided for
them.

Metcalf not being able, at once, to procure a _Palace_ for his _Queen_,
took a small house at Knaresborough. It now became matter of wonder
that she should have preferred a blind man to Dickinson, she being
as handsome a woman as any in the country. A lady having asked her
why she had refused so many good offers for Blind Jack; she answered,
“Because I could not be happy without him:” And being more particularly
questioned, she replied, “His actions are so singular, and his spirit
so manly and enterprising, that I could not help liking him.” Metcalf
being interrogated, on his part, how he had contrived to obtain the
lady, replied, That many women were like liquor-merchants, who purchase
spirits above proof, knowing that they can _lower_ them at home; and
this, he thought, would account why many a rake got a wife, while your
plodding sons of phlegm were doomed to celibacy.

He now went to Harrogate, as usual, with the exception of _one_
house. Meeting with a butcher there one day, and drinking pretty
freely, a wager was proposed to Metcalf, that he durst not visit his
mother-in-law. He took the wager, mounted his horse, and riding up to
the kitchen-door, called for a pint of wine. There being then only
women in the house, they all ran up stairs in a fright. He then rode
into the kitchen, through the house, and out at the hall door, no one
molesting him. As there were many evidences to this act of _heroism_,
he returned, and demanding the stakes, received them without opposition.

The Harrogate season being on the decline, he retired to Knaresborough,
where he purchased an old house, intending to build on its scite the
next summer. Assisted by another stout man, he began to get stones up
from the river; and being much used to the water, took great delight
in this sort of work. Meeting with some workmen, he told them the
intended dimensions of his house, and they named a price, by the rood,
for building it: but Metcalf, calculating from his own head, found
that their estimate would not do; so letting them the job by lump
agreement, they completed it at about half the sum which they would
have got by the rood.

He now went to the Oak, to demand his wife’s cloaths, but was refused:
on a second application, however, he succeeded. His wife having brought
him a boy, and some genteel people being the sponsors, they employed
their good offices to heal the breach between the families, and were so
fortunate as to succeed. On the birth of a daughter (the second child)
Mrs. Benson herself was godmother, and presented Metcalf with fifty
guineas.

He continued to play at Harrogate in the season; and set up a
four-wheel chaise, and a one-horse chair, for public accommodation,
there having been nothing of the kind there before.—He kept those
vehicles two summers, when the innkeepers beginning to run chaises, he
gave them up; as he also did racing, and hunting; but still wanting
employment, he bought horses, and went to the coast for fish, which
he took to Leeds and Manchester; and so indefatigable was he, that he
would frequently walk for two nights and a day, with little or no rest.

Going from Knaresborough to Leeds in a snow-storm, and crossing a
brook, the ice gave way under one of his horses, and he was under the
necessity of unloading to get him out; but the horse as soon as free
ran back to Knaresborough, leaving him with two panniers of fish,
and three other loaded horses, which, together with the badness of
the night, greatly perplexed him:—After much difficulty, however,
he divided the weight amongst the others, and pursuing his journey,
arrived at Leeds by break of day.

Once passing through Halifax, he stopped at an inn called the Broad
Stone. The landlord’s son and some others who frequented Harrogate
seeing Metcalf come in, and having often heard of his exploits,
signified a wish to play at cards with him: he agreed, and accordingly
they sent for a pack, which he desired to examine a little. The man
of the house being his friend, he could depend upon his honour in
preventing deception. They began, and Metcalf beat four of them in
turn; playing for liquor only. Not satisfied with this, some of the
company proposed playing for money; when engaging at shilling whist,
Metcalf won fifteen shillings. The party who lost then proposed to play
double or quit, but Metcalf declined playing for more than shilling
points; till at last yielding to much importunity, he got engaged for
guineas, and, favoured by fortune, won ten, the whole sum late in
the possession of the loser, who took up the cards, and going out,
soon returned with eight guineas more: Metcalf’s friend examined the
cards, to see that they were not marked; and finding all fair, they
went on again, until those eight pieces followed the other ten. They
then drank freely at Metcalf’s cost, he being in good circumstances
to treat. About ten at night he took his leave, saying he must be at
Knaresborough in the morning, having sent his horses before. On his
way he crossed the river Wharfe about a mile below Poole: the water
being high, his horse swam, but he got safe home; and this ended his
pursuits as a fishmonger, the profits being small, and his fatigue very
considerable.

From the period of his discontinuing the business of fishmonger,
Metcalf continued in the practice of attending Harrogate, as a player
on the violin in the Long-room, until the commencement of the Rebellion
in 1745.

The events of that period having been so numerously and so minutely
detailed, that any one the least conversant in the history of this
country cannot be unacquainted with the origin, progress, and
termination of the civil commotions which agitated it,—it would appear
unnecessary to obtrude the narration of them here, further than may
seem needful to introduce the part in which Metcalf bore a personal
share. The circumstance of his commencing soldier, was at that time,
and will still by the reader, be looked upon as a very extraordinary
proceeding of one in his situation.

The alarm which took place, in consequence of that event, was general;
and loyalty to the reigning Sovereign, and Government, with measures
for resistance to the Rebel Party, shone no where more conspicuous than
in the County of York.

Amongst the many instances which mark this, none were more striking
than the signally gallant conduct of the late WILLIAM THORNTON, Esq; of
Thornville.

The opinion of that gentleman, as delivered at the General County
Meeting held at the Castle of York, was, that the four thousand men,
(for the raising, cloathing, and maintaining of which _ninety thousand
pounds_ had been subscribed) should be embodied in companies with the
regulars, and march with the King’s forces to any part where their
services might be required.—This mode of proceeding, however, not
meeting the opinion of the majority of the gentlemen present, he
determined to raise a company at his own expence.

In consequence of that resolution, Mr. Thornton went to Knaresborough
about the first of October, 1745; and Metcalf having for several
years been in the practice of visiting that gentleman’s mansion,
(particularly at the festive season of Christmas, where, with his
violin and hautboy, he assisted to entertain the family) Mr. Thornton
was well acquainted with his extraordinary disposition, and, imagining
that he might be of service to him in his present undertaking, sent
for our blind hero to his inn, treated him liberally with punch, and,
informing him “that the French were coming to join the Scotch rebels,
the consequence of which would be, that if not vigourously opposed,
they would violate all our wives, daughters, and sisters,” asked him if
he had spirit to join the company about to be raised. Metcalf instantly
giving an affirmative answer, was asked whether he knew of any spirited
fellows who were likely to make good soldiers; and having satisfied his
patron on this head also, he was appointed an assistant to a serjeant
already procured, with orders to begin recruiting the next day. This
service went on with rapid success: several carpenters, smiths, and
other artificers were engaged, to all of whom Metcalf promised great
military advancement, or, in default of that, places of vast profit
under Government, as soon as the matter was over, which he called only
a _bustle_; thus following the example of other _decoy ducks_, by
promising very unlikely things.

Such was their success, that in two days only they enlisted one hundred
and forty men, out of whom the Captain drafted sixty-four, (the number
of privates he wanted) and sent immediately to Leeds for cloth of a
good quality for their cloathing. The coats were blue, trimmed and
faced with buff; and buff waistcoats. The taylors he had employed
refusing to work on a Sunday, he rebuked their fanatical scruples in
these words: “You rascals! if your houses were on fire, would you not
be glad to extinguish the flames on a _Sunday_?” which had the desired
effect. Arms being procured from the Tower, the men were constantly and
regularly drilled. Such of them as had relations in the public line,
would frequently bring their companions to drink, for the benefit of
the respective houses; and Metcalf never failed to attend one or other
of those parties, his fiddle and hautboy contributing to make the time
pass agreeably: and the worthy Captain was liberal in his allowance
of money for such festive purposes, insomuch that had he wanted five
hundred men, he could easily have obtained them. Soon after he brought
them to Thornville, where he ordered every other day a fat ox to be
killed for their entertainment, and gave them beer seven years old,
expressing a great pleasure at its being reserved for so good a purpose.

He now began to sound the company as to their attachment to the cause
and to himself. “My lads,” said he, “you are going to form a part of
a ring-fence to the finest estate in the world! The King’s army is on
its march to the Northward; and I have the pleasing confidence that
all of you are willing to join them.”—They replied, as if one soul had
animated them, “We will follow you to the world’s end!”

All matters being adjusted, the company was drawn up, and amongst them
BLIND JACK made no _small_ figure, being near six feet two inches
high, and, like his companions, dressed in blue and buff, with a large
gold-laced hat: So well pleased was the Captain with his appearance,
that he said he would give an hundred guineas for only _one eye_ to
stick in the head of his _dark_ champion.

Jack now played a march of the Captain’s choosing, and off they moved
for Boroughbridge. Capt. Thornton having a discretionary route, took
his march over the moors, in expectation of meeting some of the
straggling parties of the rebel army; and quartered at several villages
in his way, where he was kindly received, and visited by the heads of
the genteelest families in the neighbourhood, who generally spent the
evenings with him. Metcalf being always at the Captain’s quarters,
played on the violin, accompanied by a good voice, “_Britons! strike
home_,” and other loyal and popular airs, much to the satisfaction of
the visitors, who frequently offered him money, but this he always
refused, knowing that his acceptance of it would displease his
commander.

Arriving at Newcastle, they joined the army under the command of
General Wade, by whose order they were united with Pulteney’s regiment,
which, having suffered much in some late actions abroad, was thought
the weakest. Captain Thornton gave orders for tents for his men, and a
marquee for himself, for which he paid the upholsterer eighty guineas.
He pitched them on Newcastle Moor, and gave a pair of blankets to each
tent. Jack observed to his Captain, “Sir, I live next door to you:
but it is a custom, on coming to a new house, to have it warmed.” The
Captain knowing his meaning, said, “How much will do?”—Jack answered,
“Three shillings a tent;” which the Captain generously gave, and said,
“As you join Pulteney’s regiment, they will smell your breath;” so he
gave them ten guineas, being one to each company. On the night of their
entertainment, the snow fell six inches.

After stopping here for about a week, the General received intelligence
of the motions of the rebels, and gave orders to march by break of day
for Hexham, in three columns, wishing to intercept them upon the West
road, as their route seemed to be for England that way. The tents were
instantly struck; but the Swiss troops having the van, and not being
willing to move at so early an hour, it was half past ten before they
left the ground, and the snow by that time was become extremely deep in
several places: it also proved a very severe day for hail and frost.
They were often three or four hours in marching a mile, the pioneers
having to lower the hills, and fill up several ditches, to make a
passage for the artillery and baggage.

About ten at night they arrived at Ovington, the place marked out for
them, with straw to rest on; but the ground was frozen so hard, that
but few of the tent-pins would enter it, and in those few tents which
were pitched, the men lay one upon another, greatly fatigued with their
march, it having been fifteen hours from the time of their striking the
tents, till their arrival at this place, although the distance is only
seven miles.

At eleven o’clock at night Captain Thornton left the camp, and went
to Hexham, to visit his relation. Sir Edward Blacket, and with a view
of getting provisions and necessaries for his men: he was only nine
hours absent, as, although it was Sunday morning, the march was to be
continued. It having been customary to burn the straw, to warm the
men before they set off, orders were here given to preserve it, in
case it might be wanted on their return. However, Captain Thornton
and the Lieutenant being absent, and the Ensign having died at
Newcastle, Metcalf took it upon him to say, “My lads, get the straw
together, to burn; our Captain will pay for more, if we should want
it:” which being done, he took, out his fiddle, notwithstanding the
day, and played to the men whilst they danced round the fire; which
made the rest of the army observe them, though they did not follow
their example. The Captain and Lieutenant arriving in the midst of the
business, expressed much pleasure and satisfaction in seeing the men
thus recreate themselves.

That day they reached Hexham, where they halted. On Monday night, about
ten o’clock, the army was put in motion by a false alarm. Here General
Wade resolved to return; and immediately began the march for York,
by way of Piersebridge, Catterick, and Boroughbridge; and continuing
his route Southward, encamped his men on Clifford Moor, where they
halted a few days, and then moved to a ground between Ferrybridge and
Knottingley. The rebels had now penetrated Southward as far as Derby;
but the General having heard that they had received a check from the
Duke of Cumberland, sent General Oglethorpe with a thousand horse
towards Manchester, either to harrass the enemy in their retreat, or
to join the Duke’s forces; and returned himself with the remainder, by
Wakefield, Outwood, and Leeds, to Newcastle.

In the mean time the Duke came up with the rebels at Clifton, on
the borders of Westmoreland, of which Lord George Murray, with the
rear guard, had taken possession, whilst another party had fortified
themselves behind three hedges and a ditch.

The Duke coming upon the open moor after sun-set, gave orders for three
hundred dragoons to dismount, and advance to the brink of the ditch;
when the rebels fired upon them from behind the hedges, which they
returned, and fell a few paces back: the rebels mistaking this for
flight, rushed over the ditch, but meeting a warmer reception than they
expected, were glad to retreat, and continued their route to Penrith.

The Duke’s army was not able to follow, owing to the badness of the
roads, and the fatigue of a tedious march; but the next morning he
pursued them to Penrith; and from thence to Carlisle, where they left
part of their army.

His Royal Highness thought it advisable to reduce this place, and
accordingly sent for heavy artillery from Whitehaven, which arriving
on the 25th of December, the garrison surrendered on the 30th, and
his Royal Highness returned to London. General Wade continued his
march for the North, dismissing all the foreigners from his army; and
General Hawley on coming from London to take the command, was joined
by some regiments which had been withdrawn from Flanders. They marched
to Edinburgh; from thence to Falkirk, and pitched their tents on the
North-East side of the town, on the 16th of January.

The Highland army being at Torwood, about mid-way between Falkirk and
Stirling, and distant from the English camp only about three miles,
they could easily discover each other’s camp-lights. The English army
lay all night on their arms, in expectation of being attacked; but
the van and picquet guards came in on the morning of the 17th, having
observed no motions in the rebel camp which shewed any signs of an
attack, although they were as near them as safety would permit. Soon
after, the enemy were observed to move some of their colours from
Torwood, towards Stirling, which made the English suppose that they
were retreating; but this motion was a feint to deceive them. However,
upon this appearance, the soldiers were ordered to pile their arms,
and take some refreshment; and although Lord Kilmarnock was in the
rebel army, General Hawley went to breakfast with Lady Kilmarnock,
at Callendar House. The enemy, in the mean time, stole a march down
a valley Northward, unperceived; but just before the army discovered
them, they were seen by a person who ran into the camp, exclaiming,
“Gentlemen! what are you about? the Highlanders will be upon you:” on
which some of the officers said, “Seize that rascal, he is spreading a
false alarm.”—“Will you, then, believe your own eyes?” replied the man;
when instantly the truth of his assertion became apparent, by their
advancing to the highest ground upon Falkirk moor, the wind blowing
strongly in the faces of the English, with a severe rain. At this
moment several had left the field as well as the General; but the drums
beat to arms, which caused those who were absent to repair instantly to
the camp, and the lines were immediately formed.

Captain Thornton’s company was embodied with the matrosses, who were
thought too weak; and this was a great disappointment to him, whose
intention was to be in the front, whenever an engagement should take
place. Metcalf played before them to the field; but the flag cannon
sinking in a bog, Captain Thornton exclaimed, “D—n this accident;
we shall see no sport to-day:” and leaving his troop to assist the
matrosses in bringing up the cannon to their station, he rode up
opposite to the horse which were going to engage. The regiments of
Hamilton and Gardner were put in the front; and the Highlanders, after
firing their pieces, threw them down, and discharged their pistols in
the horses’ faces, which caused them to retreat, much confused: and
on the Duke of Perth exclaiming aloud, “Although the horse have given
way, yet the work is not accomplished,” the enemy pursued with their
broad swords, cutting down the men as they fled; and the horses did
great mischief, by breaking through their own foot, the men crying out
at the same time, “Dear brethren, we shall all be massacred this day!”
On their passing the artillery, the Captain of the matrosses seeing
their perilous situation, gave orders for all the train horses to be
cut from the cannon. General Huske at this time came up with three
regiments, and engaged the left wing of the Highlanders, ordering the
rear and centre to keep firing, and the front to reserve. The rebels,
as was their custom, after the discharge of their pieces, flung them
away, and advanced with their broad swords close up to the first line;
when the front instantly fired, and being so near, did more than double
execution; which caused them to retreat, leaving a great number dead
upon the spot.

The General observing a vast body of the rebels on the right, drew up
his men nearer Falkirk, and gave orders to keep the town until morning:
however, on examining the powder, they had the mortification to find
that the heavy rains had damaged it to such a degree, that but few
pieces could be fired; and the village being open on all sides, was
a circumstance so favourable to the enemy, as induced that General
to form the resolution of quitting the town with all expedition, and
march to Linlithgow, where there was more shelter under the walls, in
case of an attack.—This measure was fully justified by the event; for
the enemy pursued so closely, that many were taken by surprise, as, in
consequence of the order to keep the town all night, several had gone
into the houses to put off their wet cloathes; and those who were
apprised of the retreat had no sooner left the place, than the rebels
took possession, and made a great many prisoners, amongst whom were
twenty of Captain Thornton’s men, with the Lieutenant and Ensign.

Mr. Crofts, the Lieutenant, having eighty guineas in his pocket, begged
to make Lord George Murray his treasurer; which office his Lordship
accepted, and had afterwards the _generosity_ to return him SIX!

Captain Thornton, also, was in one of the houses, for the purpose
before-mentioned, but had not time sufficient to effect his escape;
and being alarmed by the bagpipes at the door, he retreated up stairs:
in a few minutes several of the rebels rushed up, in search of the
fugitives; when one of them came to the very room door behind which he
had taken refuge, and overlooking him, said, “There are none of the
rascals here.” The woman of the house having seen the Captain go up
stairs, went to him soon after, and opening a closet door, entreated
him to enter, which he did.—She then brought a dresser, and placed
dishes, &c. upon it, which prevented all appearance of a door in that
place; and fortunately there was no bed in the room. About ten minutes
after he had been fixed in his new quarters, a great number of people,
consisting chiefly of Highland officers, amongst whom was Secretary
Murray, took possession of the apartment, which being large, they
proposed making use of for business during their stay.

We will there leave Captain Thornton, and return to Metcalf, who with
the matrosses was retiring from the field of battle.

Knowing that two of his master’s horses had been left at a widow’s
house a short distance from the town, he made his way to the place,
with intent to secure them. This woman had in the morning expressed
great seeming loyalty to King George; but when Metcalf returned in the
evening, the wind had changed:—She now extolled prince Charles, and
said the defeat of _George’s folk_ was a just judgment.

Metcalf went into the stable and found the horses, saddled them, and
was leading out the first, when he was surrounded by a few stragglers
of the Highland army: “We must have that beast,” said they; but Metcalf
refusing to give him up, they said to one another, “Shoot him.” On
hearing two of them cock their pieces, he asked, “What do you want with
him?” They answered, that they wanted him for their Prince: “If so, you
must have him,” replied he. They took him, and immediately went off.
Metcalf then brought out the other; but as he was about to mount, the
Captain’s coachman (whose name was Snowden) joined him, and Metcalf
inquiring of him the fate of his master, was answered, that he had not
seen him since he left the artillery, when he rode up with the horse
which were going to engage: this induced them to think that the worst
had befallen him. They then thought it advisable to attempt falling in
with the rear of the army, and endeavoured to slant the ground for that
purpose; but before they had proceeded many yards, their horse sunk up
to the saddle-skirts in a bog: however, being strong and plunging out,
they mounted again, and soon joined it as they wished; where on making
diligent inquiry after their Captain, they were told that he was left
behind; on which Snowden returned as far as he could with safety, but
without gaining any intelligence, and Metcalf walked on with the army.

They arrived at Linlithgow, where they halted; and the next day they
marched to Edinburgh. There the mob, and lower orders of people, were
very free in their expressions, and some of the higher also spoke very
warmly, in favour of Prince Charles; making it appear clearly, _by
their own account_, that nothing could prevent his coming to the Crown.

The next morning as many of Captain Thornton’s men as had escaped being
taken prisoners, (about forty-eight in number,) assembled; and none of
them being quite certain of having seen the Captain since he left them
with the cannon in the bog, they supposed him to have shared the fate
of many other brave men who had fallen in the action of that day, and
which they all sincerely lamented—not only on account of the favours
he had individually conferred on them, but for the great and liberal
example which he had invariably shewn to his brother officers, in the
care and attention which he paid to his men in general; the natural
consequence of which was, that he possessed the love and confidence
of the soldiery. The disappearance, also, of the two other officers,
and twenty of their men, greatly dispirited them; and, together with
the suspension from their regular pay, induced some of them to apply
to Metcalf for a supply, in order to carry them home; but he laudably
refused any aid he might have afforded them, on being informed of the
purpose for which it was required.

The army being fixed at Edinburgh, the head-quarters were at the
Abbey. The superior officers sent for Metcalf, thinking it a singular
circumstance that a person deprived of sight should enter into the
army; and knowing that his master was missing, they desired to converse
with him. One of the officers belonging to the dragoons who retreated
from Falkirk speaking ironically of Thornton’s men, asked Jack how
_he_ got off the field of battle.—Metcalf answered, “I found it very
easy to follow by the sound of the dragoon horses, they made such a
_clatter_ over the stones.” This reply made the gentlemen turn the
laugh against him. Colonel Cockayne likewise asked how he durst venture
into the service, blind as he was; to which he replied, “that had he
possessed a pair of good eyes, he would never have come there to have
risked the loss of them by gunpowder.” Then making his obeisance, he
withdrew: For Metcalf, though he had not _read books_, had read _men_;
and received his knowledge from the school of the world.

He now determined upon a journey to Falkirk, in search of his Captain;
but this being attended with difficulty, he applied to a Knaresborough
man who lived at Edinburgh and was of the rebel party, telling him
that he wished to be a musician to Prince Charles, as he found it was
all over with the English. The man informed him that they had a spy,
an Irishman, going to the Prince; on which Metcalf set forward with
him, and he promised to recommend him on their arrival at Falkirk; but
on coming up to the English out-sentries, they were stopped:—Metcalf
inquired for the Captain, and informed him of the real cause of his
journey: by him he was kindly advised to lay aside his project, and
told that he would lose his life; but still persisting, he proceeded
with the spy, and arrived at Linlithgow, where they stayed all night.
They met with several women who had been upon plunder, and were then
on their return to Edinburgh; and the spy instructed them how to avoid
the English sentries. Metcalf was very careful to examine the cloathes
they had got, thinking that by chance he might meet with some of his
Captain’s, ignorant as he was of his fate. One of the women sent a
token by Metcalf to her husband, who was Lord George Murray’s cook:
this woman’s guide was a horse-dealer, who soon became acquainted with
Metcalf, having frequented the fairs in Yorkshire; and at this time by
some means had got introduced to the heads of both armies, and obtained
a protection from each to press horses occasionally.—This man’s fate
was remarkable; for going into Stirling, where the King’s army lay,
he found that orders were given to let no strangers pass without an
examination, which he underwent, and said that he had a protection from
General Huske: being ordered to produce it, he had the misfortune to
take that out of his pocket which he had got from the Pretender; and
when informed of his mistake, instantly produced the other—but too
late; for he was tied up by the neck to a lamp-iron, without giving him
time to put off his boots.

A short time before Metcalf and the spy left the ’Change-house
at Linlithgow, some of the van guard of the rebels came in, and
called for whiskey; and it was supposed that they dropped there a
silver-mounted pistol, which, on their setting out, the spy picked up,
and offered to Metcalf; but he refused it, saying, he thought it not
proper to have fire-arms about him, as he expected to be searched:
so they pursued their journey and presently fell in with the rebels
out-guard, several of whom, accosted Metcalf, and as all seemed well,
they were allowed to pass, and arrived at Falkirk, where he inquired
for Lord George Murray’s cook, to deliver his present, and was
afterwards introduced to and conversed with his Lordship, Secretary
Murray, and other gentlemen. Lord George gave him part of a glass of
wine, an article at that time of great value; for as the rebels had
been there three times, and the English twice, they had almost _swept
the cupboard clean of its crumbs_.

Whilst conversing with them, he was very circumspect, knowing that
his life was in danger, if the real purpose of his journey should be
discovered.

He then made his way towards the market-place, where a number of
Highlanders were assembled.—This was on Wednesday the 22d; but it
happened that his master had left the place that morning, about four
hours before his arrival.

We will now return to Captain Thornton, whom we left on Friday in the
closet, in close neighbourhood with the Highland Chiefs, who every day
transacted business in the room. The Quarter-Masters of the rebel army
having taken the house, had given the woman to whom it belonged a small
apartment backward; but every night she took care to carry him such
provisions as she could convey through a crevice at the bottom of the
door; and this mode she used for fear of alarming these who slept in
the adjoining rooms. The closet was only a yard and a half square; and
the Captain’s cloathes being wet when he entered, made his situation
the more uncomfortable, as he had got a severe cold, and sometimes
could not forbear coughing, even when the rebels were in their room.
Once in particular, hearing a cough, they said one to another “what
is that?” but one of them answered, that it was somebody in another
room;—not in the least suspecting a door in the place where the closet
was.

On Monday night the woman of the house went to the door to carry
provisions as usual, when the Captain said to her, “I am determined to
come out, let the consequence be what it may; for I will not die like
a dog in this hole;” but she begged that he would bear his confinement
till the next night, and she would adopt some plan to effect his
escape. She accordingly consulted an old carpenter, who was true to
the Royal cause, and he came the next night, removed the dresser, and
liberated the Captain. They proceeded down stairs in the dark, to the
woman’s apartment, where she made tea, whilst the carpenter concerted
their plan of operation. They dressed him in a pladdie and brogues,
with a black wig, and the carpenter packed him up a bag of tools, as
if he was going with his master to work as soon as it was light. The
Captain had only ten guineas about him, (having lost his cash with
his Lieutenant, Mr. Crofts) eight of which he gave to the woman who
had so faithfully preserved him, and two to the carpenter, who, to
secrete them, put them into his mouth along with his tobacco, fearful
of a search by the Highlanders, who would have suspected him had they
found more than a shilling. Every thing being ready, they set out, the
Captain with his bag of tools following his supposed master. On coming
into the croud, he looked about, and was rather behind; and although in
disguise, did not look like a common workman which making the old man
dread a discovery, he called out to him, “Come alang, ye filthy loon:
ye have had half a bannock and a mutchkin of drink in your wame—we
shall be too late for our day’s wark.” Whether this artifice served
him or not, is uncertain; but they got safe through the throng, and,
leaving the high-road, pursued their journey across the country. Having
come to a rising ground, the Captain took a view of Falkirk moor, and
said, “Yonder’s the place where such a sad piece of work was made of it
on Friday last.” The old man at the same time looking the other way,
saw two or three hundred Highlanders, who had been on plunder, coming
down a lane which led from Callendar-House (Lord Kilmarnock’s seat)
into the main road; and being desirous of passing the end of this lane
before they came up, in order to avoid them, said, “We shall have a
worse piece of work of it than we had on Friday, if you do not hasten
your pace;” and begged the Captain to come forward, which he did; but
walking briskly up a hill, he suddenly stopped, and said, “I am sick:”
however they gained their point, and passed the Highlanders; for had
they come up with them, the least injury would have been a march back
to Falkirk, as prisoners. On going two miles farther, they arrived at
a house belonging to a friend of the carpenter’s, and which had been
plundered: there the old man got an egg, but not being able to find
a pan to boil it, he roasted it in peat-ashes, and gave it to the
Captain, to put in his _wame_, for so he called his stomach. Proceeding
a few miles farther, they arrived at another house, where they procured
a horse for the Captain.—He arrived at the English out-posts, and
making himself known was permitted to pass, and reached Edinburgh in
safety.

With respect to Metcalf, whom we left at Falkirk, as his dress was a
plaid waistcoat laced with gold, which he had borrowed of a friend at
Edinburgh, together with a blue regimental coat faced with buff, he
told the Highlanders, in answer to their inquiries, that he had been
fiddling for the English officers, and that they had given him that
coat, which had belonged to a man who was killed; and also that his
intention was to serve in the same capacity with Prince Charles.—But
a person coming up who had seen Jack at Harrogate, said, “That fellow
ought to be taken up, for he has something more than common in his
proceedings;” on which Metcalf was taken to the guard-room, and
searched for letters, but none were found, having only a pack of cards
in his pocket, which they split, to see whether they contained any
writing in the folds, but finding none, he was put into a loft in the
roof of the building, (where the snow came in very much) along with
a dragoon, and some other prisoners, where for three days they were
suffered to remain in confinement.

In a short time Metcalf and his fellow-prisoners were tried by a
court-martial, at which he was acquitted, and had permission given
to go to the Prince; but wanting to borrow a clean shirt, they asked
him where his own were; he said, at Linlithgow, but that he durst
not go there, on account of _George’s devils_. They told him that
he might safely go with the Irishman he came with. He knew that his
companion had letters for the Highlanders’ friends at Edinburgh, but
had no intention to pass the English sentries. Metcalf amused him with
assurances that he had ten pounds at Edinburgh, for which he should
have no occasion if he joined the Prince, and that he might have the
greatest part of it: the spy, on this, became extremely desirous of his
company to Edinburgh, wishing to finger the money, and proposed going
across the country; but Metcalf said that _he_ could pass the English
sentries, by saying that he was going to Captain Thornton. They then
proceeded, and after going two miles, they met an officer, who was
reconnoitring, and he knowing Metcalf, told him that his master was
arrived at Edinburgh, which news was highly pleasing to him. On leaving
the officer, the spy accosted him with “So, what you _are_ going to
him.”—“No,” said Metcalf, “nor to any such fellows.” They then passed
the sentry, as Metcalf proposed, and arrived at Edinburgh, where they
parted, but promised to meet the next evening at nine o’clock. Jack
went directly to his Captain, who rejoiced at so unexpected a meeting.
Metcalf told him that he had given him a great deal of trouble;
adding, that he thought people might come home from market without
fetching.—The Captain smiled, and said, “What is to be done, for I
have neither money or cloathes, having left all behind at Falkirk; but
I have bills upon the road to the amount of three hundred pounds?” This
proved fortunate; for had they been a few days sooner, they might by
chance have been lost also;—but the reason of this delay was, that all
letters, directed to Scotland, were at this time sent to London, to be
examined at the General Post-Office. Metcalf told the Captain that he
could get him some money, which the other thought impossible: however
he went to a known friend, and obtained thirty pounds.—Taylors were
instantly set to work, and next morning the Captain was enabled to
visit his brother officers at the Abbey.

The army still quartered at Edinburgh, while part of the rebels were
in Falkirk, and another part at Stirling, where they raised several
batteries, and besieged Stirling Castle. The governor, General
Blakeney, made little opposition; and a shot from the batteries
killing two or three men, some of the officers were greatly enraged,
and threatened to confine the Governor: But a little time shewed that
he was right in his conduct; for letting the rebels come pretty near
the walls, on a sudden he began so hot a fire, as to kill several of
their men, demolishing their batteries, and dismounting their guns,
which made them glad to retreat, and raise the siege: and the General
having destroyed the bridge, they were obliged to make a circuitous
march before they were able to ford the river.

The Duke of Cumberland arrived at Edinburgh on the 30th of January,
1746; and two days afterwards marched out at the head of the army,
towards Falkirk, the rebels leaving it a little time before. Captain
Thornton visited the Duke often: his Royal Highness took notice of
Metcalf, and spoke to him several times on the march, observing how
well by the sound of the drum he was able to keep his pace. On the
army’s arrival at Linlithgow, intelligence was received that the
rebels were on their march to give them battle; upon which the army was
drawn up in order, and the Duke rode through the lines, and addressed
the men as follows: “If there be any who think themselves in a bad
cause, or are afraid to engage, thinking they may might against any of
their relations, let them now turn out, receive pardon, and go about
their business, without any farther question.”—On this, the whole army
gave three huzzas. But the intelligence proving false, they proceeded
to Falkirk, and continued their route through Stirling, Perth,
Montrose, Briffin, and Stonehive, to Aberdeen, where they halted. The
rebel army lay now at Strathbogie.

At Aberdeen the Duke gave a ball to the ladies, and personally
solicited Captain Thornton for his fidler, there being at that time no
music in the army except Colonel Howard’s, (the Old Buffs) and which
being wind music were unaccustomed to country dances. As the rebel
army was only twenty miles distant, no invitations were sent till
five o’clock, tho’ the ball was to begin at six. Twenty-five couples
danced for eight hours, and his Royal Highness made one of the set,
and several times, as he passed Metcalf, who stood on a chair to play,
shouted “Thornton, play up:” but Jack needed no exhortation, for he was
very well practised, and better inclined.

Next morning the Duke sent him two guineas; but as he was not permitted
to take money, he informed his Captain, who said, that as it was the
Duke’s money, he might take it; but observed, that he should give his
Royal Highness’s servants a treat. He had only three servants with him,
(viz. his gentleman, cook, and groom.) So the next night two of them
paid Metcalf a visit, and a merry party they made, the Captain ordering
them great plenty of liquor.

In a little time they proceeded on their march, and engaged the rebels
on Culloden moor, giving them a total defeat, although they had targets
to ward off the bayonet, whilst they cut away with their broad swords,
yet the Duke found a method of frustrating their plan, by pushing the
bayonet over the right arm, which rendered their targets of no use.
Kingston’s Light Horse pursued them in their disorder and flight, and
made a great slaughter amongst them.

The English prisoners were now all liberated.—Two or three of Captain
Thornton’s men had died in prison; and the rest returned home.

The rebellion being completely suppressed, Captain Thornton returned
home also, accompanied by Metcalf, of whose family it is full time to
take some notice.—He had the happiness to find his faithful partner
and children in good health; and although the former confessed that
she had entertained many fears for her poor blind adventurer, yet
knowing that a spirit of enterprize made a part of his nature, she
was often comforted by the hope, that he would, in some degree,
signalize himself, notwithstanding the misfortune under which he
laboured.—This declaration, following a most cordial reception, gave
full confirmation to an opinion which Metcalf had ever held, viz. that
the caresses and approbation of the softer sex, are the highest reward
a soldier can deserve or obtain.

The notice with which the Duke of Cumberland had honoured Metcalf, gave
him much reason to believe, that, had he followed him to London, he
would have received more marks of his Royal favour.—But Metcalf was
deficient to himself in this instance; neglecting to solicit further
notice till it was judged too late to make application.

About a year after their return, a vacancy happening in the
representation for the city of York, the citizens sent for Mr.
Thornton, and unanimously elected him, free of all expence.

A short time after this, the militia was raised, and he was, as his
merit well entitled him to be, appointed Colonel of the West-York
battalion; which situation he held, with advantage to the service, and
honour to himself, for the remainder of his life.

Blind Jack being now at liberty to choose his occupation, attended
Harrogate as usual; but having, in the course of his Scotch expedition,
become acquainted with the various articles manufactured in that
country, and judging that some of those might answer for him to
traffic with in England, he repaired, in the spring, to Scotland, and
supplied himself with various articles in the cotton and worsted way,
particularly Aberdeen stockings. For all those articles he found a
ready sale at the houses of gentlemen in the extensive County of York;
and being personally known to most of the families, was ever very
kindly received. He never was at a loss to know, amongst a thousand
articles, what each had cost him, from a particular mode of marking.

It was also customary with him to buy horses, for sale in Scotland,
bringing back galloways in return; and in this traffic he depended on
feeling the animals, to direct his choice.

He also engaged pretty deeply in the contraband trade, the profits of
which were at that time much more considerable than the risk.

One time in particular, having received a pressing letter from
Newcastle-upon-Tyne, requiring his speedy attendance, he set out on
horseback from Knaresborough at three in the morning, and got into
Newcastle in the evening about six o’clock, the distance nearly
seventy-four miles, and did not feel the least fatigued.

Having received some packages, he employed a few soldiers to convey
them to a carrier, judging that men of their description were least
liable to suspicion. After sending off his goods, he stayed two nights
with some relations he had there, and then set off for home. He had
with him about an hundred weight of tea, cased over with tow, and
tightly corded up; this he put into a wallet, which he laid across his
saddle.

Coming to Chester-le-Street, (about half-way between Newcastle and
Durham) he met at the inn an exciseman, who knew him as soon as he had
dismounted, and asked him what he had got there. Metcalf answered, “It
is some tow and line for my aunt, who lives a few miles distant;—I
wish she was far enough for giving me the trouble to fetch it.” The
officer asking him to bring it in, he replied, “For the time I shall
stay it may as well remain on the horsing-stone.” By this seeming
indifference about his package, he removed suspicion from the mind of
the exciseman, who assisted in re-placing it across the saddle; when he
pursued his journey, and got home in safety.

Once having disposed of a string of horses, he bought, with the
produce, a quantity of rum, brandy, and tea, to the amount of 200_l._,
put them on board a vessel for Leith, and travelled over-land, on
foot, to meet the vessel there. He had about thirty miles to walk, and
carried near five stone weight of goods which he did not choose to put
on shipboard. At Leith he had the mortification to wait six weeks,
without receiving any tidings of the vessel, which many supposed to
have been lost, there having been a storm in the interval. The distress
of mind resulting from this, induced him once to say, “If she is lost,
I wish I had been in her; for she had all my property on board.” Soon
after, however, the ship got into Leith harbour. He there went on
board, and set sail for Newcastle; but another storm arising, the mate
was washed overboard, the mainsail carried away, and the ship driven
near the coast of Norway. Despair now became general; the prospect of
going to the bottom seeming almost certain. He now reflected on the
impiety of his wish respecting the former storm; and so effectually
was his way of thinking changed, that had he had all the current coin
of the universe, he would have given it to have been on shore. It now
appeared to him a dreadful thing to leave the world in the midst of
health and vigour; but the wind changing, hope began to return, and the
Captain put about for the Scotch coast, intending to make Arbrothie.
A signal of distress was put up, but the sea ran so high, that no
boat could venture out with a pilot. He then stood in for the harbour,
but struck against the pier end, owing to the unmanageable state of
the vessel, from the loss of her mainsail: she narrowly escaped being
bulged; but having got to the back of the pier, was towed round into
the harbour, with near five feet water in her hold. Her escape from the
merciless elements, however, did not seem to terminate her dangers,
the country people shewing a disposition to seize her as a wreck, and
plunder her; but fortunately there was at hand a party, consisting of
an officer and twenty men, of Pulteney’s regiment, who had been in
pursuit of some smugglers; and Metcalf knowing them well, (Colonel
Thornton’s company being attached to that regiment) the officer sent
three files of men to protect the vessel, while the crew were removing
the goods to a warehouse.

As this vessel stood in need of repairs, Metcalf put his goods on
board another, and in her got to Newcastle. There he met with an
acquaintance; and from the seeming cordiality at the meeting, he
thought he might have trusted his life in the hands of this man. With
this impression, Metcalf opened to him the state of his affairs;
informing him that he had got four hundred gallons of gin and brandy,
for which he had a permit, and about thirty gallons for which he had
none, and which he wanted to land; telling him, at the same time,
of the harrassing voyage he had just finished: But, it seems, his
misfortunes were only about to commence; for, in a quarter of an hour,
he found that the man whom he had taken for a friend had gone down to
the quay side, and, giving information of what he knew, had all the
goods seized, and brought on shore. Metcalf imagined that none were
seizable but the small part for which he had not obtained a permit; but
was soon undeceived, the whole being liable to seizure, as not agreeing
with the specified quantity.

He then repaired to the Custom-House, and applied to Mr. Sunderland,
the Collector. This gentleman knew Metcalf, (being in the habit of
visiting Harrogate) and received him very kindly; but informed him,
with much concern, that it was not in his power to serve him, the
captors being the excise people, and not of his department.—He,
however, suggested, that some good might result from an application
to Alderman Peireth, with whom Metcalf was acquainted, and who
was particularly intimate with the Collector of the Excise. The
good Alderman gave him a letter to the Collector; representing,
as instructed by Metcalf, that the bearer had bought four hundred
gallons of spirits, at the Custom-House at Aberdeen; and that the
extra quantity was for the purpose of treating the sailors and other
friends, as well as for sea-stock for himself. At first the Collector
told him that nothing could be done for him, until he should write up
to the Board, and receive an answer; but Metcalf remonstrating on the
inconvenience of the delay, and the other re-considering the letter,
he agreed to come down to the quay at four o’clock in the afternoon,
which he accordingly did, and released every thing without expence.

A short time after the regiment called the Queen’s Bays were raised,
they were quartered at Knaresborough and the adjacent towns; but, after
a short stay, they were ordered to the North. The country people seemed
extremely unwilling to supply carriages for conveying the baggage; the
King’s allowance being but nine-pence a mile, per ton; that of the
County, one shilling in the West Riding, and fifteen-pence, in the
North Riding. Metcalf having two waggons, (one of them covered) had a
mind to try this new business; and, to make sure of the job, got the
soldiers to _press_ his two carriages, which were accordingly loaded,
himself attending them to Durham. Previous to loading, however, the
country people, who knew the advantage of carrying for the army, and
who had kept back, in hopes of an advance in the price, came forward
with their waggons, in opposition to Metcalf; but the soldiers would
employ no other.

Arriving at Durham, he met Bland’s Dragoons, on their march from the
North to York: they loaded his waggons again for Northallerton, and
would willingly have engaged them to York; but this he was obliged
to decline, having promised to bring twenty-three wool-packs to
Knaresborough. He was just six days in performing this journey; and
cleared, with eight horses and the one he rode, no less a sum than
twenty pounds; though many people were afraid to travel with soldiers.

Some time after the Queen’s regiment had got to Durham, it received the
usual annual recruit of four horses to a troop. The regiment having
been so lately raised, had no old horses: nevertheless, four were to
be sold from each. Metcalf had notice sent him of the sale, but did
not receive the letter until the day before it commenced.—He set off,
however, that afternoon, for Durham, and riding all night, got there by
day-break.

His first business was to become acquainted with the farriers; so
getting about half-a-dozen of them together, and plying them heartily
with gin, he began to question them as to the horses which were to be
sold.

Amongst the number to be disposed of, was a grey one, belonging to
one of the drums. The man who had the charge of him not having been
sufficiently careful in trimming him, had burnt him severely, which
caused a prodigious swelling. Had this careless conduct been known to
his superiors, he would have been punished for it: upon that account
the matter was hushed up. Metcalf, however, being apprized of the real
cause, in the course of his conversation with the farriers, determined
to purchase him, judging that they would be desirous to part with him
at any price; and in this conjecture he was not mistaken.

The sale began by bringing out seven bay horses; six of which a
gentleman bought for a carriage, and Metcalf purchased the seventh.

They then brought forward the grey horse with his swelled sheath, which
excited many jokes and much laughter among the spectators.—Our chapman
bought him also, at the very low price of 3_l._ 15_s._ 0_d._ which was
first affixed by the auctioneer, but which, however, the people said
was very much beyond his value.

Having used such applications as he thought efficacious for his
recovery, by the time he had got him home he had the satisfaction to
find him perfectly sound; and within a week afterwards refused fifteen
guineas for him.—He kept him many years as a draught-horse; and the
other horse also was sold to a profit, by which he thought himself very
well paid for his journey to Durham.

In the year 1751 Metcalf commenced a new employ:—He set up a
stage-waggon between York and Knaresborough, being the first on that
road, and conducted it constantly himself, twice a week in the summer
season, and once in winter; and this business, together with the
occasional conveyance of army baggage, employed his attention until the
period of his first contracting for the making of roads, which suiting
him better, he disposed of his draught, and interest in the road, to
one Guiseley.

An act of Parliament having been obtained to make a turnpike-road
from Harrogate to Boroughbridge, a person of the name of Ostler, of
Farnham, was appointed surveyor; and Metcalf falling into company with
him, agreed to make about three miles of it, viz. between Minskip and
Fearnsby.—The materials were to be procured from one gravel pit for
the whole length: he therefore provided deal boards, and erected a
temporary house at the pit, took a dozen horses to the place, fixed
racks and mangers; and hired a house for his men at Minskip, which
was distant about three-quarters of a mile. He often walked from
Knaresborough in the morning, with four or five stone of meat on his
shoulders, and joined his men by six o’clock: and by the means he used,
he completed the work much sooner than was expected, to the entire
satisfaction of the surveyor and trustees.

During his leisure hours he studied measurement in a way of his own;
and when certain of the girt and length of any piece of timber, he was
able to reduce its true contents to feet and inches; and would bring
the dimensions of any building into yards or feet.

Near the time of his finishing this road, the building of a bridge
was advertised to be contracted for, at Boroughbridge; and a number
of gentlemen met for that purpose at the Crown inn there. Metcalf,
amongst others, went also. The masons varied considerably in their
estimates. Ostler, the surveyor of the roads, was appointed to survey
the bridge; and Metcalf told him that he wished to undertake it, though
he had never done any thing of the kind before. On this, the surveyor
acquainted the gentlemen with what Metcalf had proposed; when he was
sent for, and asked what he knew about a bridge: he told them, that he
could readily describe it, if they would take the trouble of writing
down his plan, which was as follows: “The span of the arch, 18 feet,
being a semi-circle, makes 27: the arch-stones must be a foot deep,
which if multiplied by 27, will be 486; and the bases will be 72 feet
more.—This for the arch: it will require good backing; for which
purpose there are proper stones in the old Roman wall at Aldborough,
which may be brought, if you please to give directions to that effect.”
The gentlemen were surprised at his readiness, and agreed with him for
building the bridge. The persons who had given in their estimates,
were much offended; and as the stone was to be procured from Renton,
a sale-quarry belonging to one of the masons who were there, he was
unwilling to sell any to Metcalf; upon which he went to Farnham, and
found good stones, which the lime-burners had left, (being too strong
for their purpose,) got them dressed at the place for little money,
conveyed them to Boroughbridge, and having men to take them off the
carriages, set them, and completed the arch in one day; and finished
the whole in a very short period.

Soon after, there was a mile and an half of turnpike-road to be made
between Knaresborough-Bridge and Harrogate, which Metcalf also agreed
for. Going one day over a place covered with grass, he told his men
that he thought it different from the ground adjoining, and would have
them try for stone or gravel, which they immediately did, and found an
old causeway, supposed to have been made in the time of the Romans,
which afforded many materials proper for the purpose of making the
road. Between the Forest-Lane head and Knaresborough-Bridge, there was
a bog, in a low piece of ground, over which to have passed was the
nearest way; and the surveyor thought it impossible to make a road over
it: but Metcalf assured him that he could readily accomplish it.—The
other then told him, that if so, he should be paid for the same length
as if he had gone round. Jack set about it, cast the road up, and
covered it with whin, and ling; and made it as good, or better, than
any part he had undertaken. He received about four hundred pounds for
the road and a small bridge which he had built over a brook called
Stanbeck.

There was an old house at Harrogate, with some fields belonging to it,
and denominated a messuage, which was of more value, as having common
right upon the Forest. It belonged to an old woman, and at her decease
to her husband. Metcalf went to the latter, and bought his contingent
right in the house and land; and the old woman came to him soon after,
to sell her life-estate in it also. They agreed; and including both
the net sum amounted to eighty pounds. In about three weeks after this
purchase, he sold it for upwards of two hundred pounds.

A road being projected between Harrogate and Harewood-Bridge, six
miles in length, a meeting was held, (the late Lord Harewood, then Mr.
Lascelles, being one of the party) to contract with any person who
might be thought proper to make it. A great number of estimates were
delivered, but Metcalf obtained the contract. It was to be completed
before the winter set in; and being a stiff-clay soil, it was judged
expedient to cast the whole length before they began to stone it: on
these accounts he agreed with the gentlemen, that no carriages should
pass whilst the road was making; and, by way of prevention, had sluices
cut at each end of the lane, and wooden bridges, which he took up
occasionally, thrown across, for his own carriages to pass over with
the materials. He also hired two houses, at a distance from each other
on the road, to entertain strangers who travelled on horseback, and the
people employed in the undertaking, as there were not sufficient in the
country. The short period he had contracted to complete the work in,
obliging him to use the readiest methods, he had a wheel-plough drawn
by nine horses through the forest, as the best and most expeditious
way to get up the roots of whin and ling, in parts where they were
strong; and being obliged to superintend the progress of the work, he
obtained leave from the innkeepers at Harrogate to engage a substitute
in his absence. He completed his contract in the time allowed, to
the satisfaction of the gentlemen trustees, and of the surveyor; and
received for the work, twelve hundred pounds.

There then being about a mile and an half of road to be made through
part of Chapel-Town to Leeds, Lord Harewood and other gentlemen met at
the Bowling-Green in Chapel-Town, to receive estimates;—and Metcalf
got the contract. He also widened the arch of Sheepscar-Bridge; and
received for that and the road together near four hundred pounds.

Between Skipton and Colne in Lancashire there were four miles of road
to be made, and estimates were advertised for. A number of gentlemen
met, and Metcalf’s proposals had the preference. The materials were
at a greater distance, and more difficult to be procured, than he
expected; and a wet season coming on, made this a bad bargain; yet he
completed it according to contract.

He next engaged for two miles on the Burnleigh road, which he
completed; but was not more a gainer.

He then agreed for two miles of road which lay through Broughton to
Martin; and two miles more which lay through Addingham, and over part
of Romell’s Moor. The same trustees acted for those roads, as for that
of Colne. These he completed, and received one thousand three hundred
and fifty pounds from Mr. Ingham of Burnleigh and Mr. Alcock of Skipton.

After this, a meeting was held at Wakefield, to contract for making
part of the road between that town and Halifax.—Metcalf engaged for
four miles which lay between Mill-Bridge and Belly-Bridge; and finished
this also, though it was an extremely wet summer.—He then took three
miles more which lay between Belly-Bridge and Halifax, and completed
it.—And also agreed for five miles which lay between Wakefield and
Checkingley-Beck, near Dewsbury.

The trustees of the road, (Sir Rowland Winn, —— Smith and W. Roebuck,
Esqrs.) meeting at Wakefield, to let part of the road leading to
Pontefract, and likewise from Wakefield to Doncaster, Metcalf took
three miles and an half which lay between Hag-Bridge and Pontefract,
and one mile and an half on the Doncaster road, from Crofton through
Foulby; all which he completed. The road from Wakefield, to Pontefract,
Doncaster, and Halifax, being under the management of one company of
trustees, Mr. Allen Johnson was treasurer for one part, John Mills,
Esq; for another, both of Wakefield; and Mr. Valentine Stead, and
Mr. William Cook, for the other parts: By the payment of these four
gentlemen he received six thousand four hundred pounds.

A road was then advertised to be let from Wakefield to Austerland,
intended to lead through Horbury, Almondbury, Huddersfield, Marsden,
and Saddleworth. A meeting was held at Huddersfield, for the purpose.
Sir John Kaye, Colonel Radcliffe, ’Squire Farrer, and several other
gentlemen attended, and Metcalf agreed with them from Black-Moor Foot
to Marsden, and from thence to Standish-Foot; also from Lupset-Gate,
thro’ Horbury, about two miles and an half. At that time none of the
road was marked out, except between Marsden and Standish-Foot, leading
over a common called Pule and Standish: the surveyor took it over
deep marshes; but Metcalf not expecting it to have been carried that
way, thought it a great hardship, and complained to the gentlemen,
alledging it would be a much greater expence: they answered, that if he
could make a complete road, he should not be a loser; and they were of
opinion, that it would be necessary to dig the earth quite out of the
marshes, until they came to a solid bottom.—Metcalf, on calculating
that each marsh, upon an average, being three yards deep, and fourteen
broad, would make two hundred and ninety-four solid yards of earth
in every rood, which, to have carried away, would have been extremely
tedious and expensive—and not only so, but that the road lying East
and West, would fill with snow in winter, (as it usually falls in that
direction, when the wind is in the North)—argued the point privately
with the surveyor and several of the gentlemen: but they all seemed
immoveable in their former opinion. Metcalf then appeared at the public
meeting, and the subject was again brought forward; but knowing that
it would be to little purpose to hold a contest with them, he said,
“Gentlemen, as you seem to have a great deal of business before you
to-day, it appears quite unnecessary to trespass upon your time on
this head:—I propose to make the road over the marshes, after my own
plan; and if it does not answer, I will be at the expence of making
it over again, after your’s:” which was consented to. And as he had
engaged to make nine miles of the road in ten months, he began in six
different parts, with near four hundred men employed. One of the
places was Pule and Standish common, which he cast fourteen yards wide,
and raised in a circular form. Water in several places ran across the
road, which he carried off by drains; but found the greatest difficulty
in conveying stones to the places for the purpose, on account of the
softness of the ground. Numbers of clothiers usually going that way to
Huddersfield market, were by no means sparing in their censure, and
held much diversity of opinion relative to its completion. But Metcalf
got the piece levelled to the end, and then ordered his men to bind
heather, or ling, in round bundles, and directed them to lay it on the
intended road, by placing the bundles in squares of four, and laying
another upon each square, pressing them well down. He then brought
broad-wheeled carts, and began to load stone and gravel for covering.
When the first load was brought and laid on, and the horses had gone
off in safety, the company huzza’d from surprise. They completed the
whole of this length, which was about half a mile; and it was so
particularly fine, that any person might have gone over it in winter,
unshod, without being wet. This piece of road needed no repairs for
twelve years afterwards. Having finished the nine miles within the
limited time, he took three miles from Standish to Thurston Clough,
which he completed;—and afterwards six miles and an half from Sir John
Kaye’s seat to Huddersfield; and from thence to Longroyd and Bridge
toll-bar, about a mile and an half;—also four bridges, their spans
twenty-four feet each; together with six bridges, the spans of which
were nine feet each. When all this work was finished, (the gentlemen
having promised that he should be no loser) a meeting was called,
and Metcalf attended: he assured them that the work he had completed
extra to his first bargain, in the marshes and other places, deserved
five hundred pounds: after some debate, he was allowed three hundred
pounds; though it was well worth the first-named sum. He had made about
twenty-one miles in the whole, for which he received four thousand five
hundred pounds.

In the building of bridges, where the foundations were bad, he laid
on a sufficient thickness of ling where it could be got, otherwise
of wheat straw; he next laid planks five inches thick, with square
mortises cut through; and driving in a number of piles, he made the
foundation secure.—He then laid springs for the arch upon the planks,
which caused all to settle regularly when the weight came on. And
though he built many arches, of different sizes, by taking this method
none ever fell.

He undertook three turnpike-houses upon the Wakefield and Austerland
roads, and completed them all. Believing there was a stone-quarry on
the South-East side of Huddersfield, in ground belonging to Sir John
Ramsden, he bored secretly in the night-time before he undertook the
road, and was successful in finding it. After finishing the road,
having some vacant time, and having likewise discovered the quarry, Sir
John gave him liberty to lead away stone. He now took houses to build,
particularly one belonging to Mr. Marmaduke Hebdin, nine yards wide,
twenty-three yards long, and twenty-one feet from the foundation to the
square of the building;—it had twenty chimnies or pipes: And this he
also completed.

He undertook the road from Dock-Lane head, in Yorkshire, to
Ashton-under-Line, in Lancashire; also from the guide-post near the
latter place, to Stockport, in Cheshire; and also between Stockport and
Mottram-Longdale: the whole length being eighteen miles. He set men to
work in different parts, with horses and carts to each company; and
though he lost twenty horses in one winter, he was not discouraged;
observing that “horse-leather had been dear a long time, but he hoped
now to reduce the price.” Notwithstanding this misfortune, he completed
the whole, including a great number of drains and arches, which were
all done to the satisfaction of the trustees and surveyor; and received
for the work four thousand five hundred pounds.

He then took eight miles more which required several drains and
arches.—He raised one hollow nine yards, and built sufficiently on
each side to keep up the earth, with battlements on the top; for which
he received two thousand pounds.

One day being met by Sir Geo. Warren, who inquired if he was at
leisure, and being answered in the affirmative, he desired to see him
at his house at Poynton. Metcalf went, and agreed to make about five
miles of a private road through the Park.—He took twelve or fourteen
horses of his own, and brought large quantities of stone into Sir
George’s grounds, for the use of draining. For this he received several
hundred pounds, and great favours also from Sir George and his lady.

A road was to be made between Whaley and Buxton, in Derbyshire, to
avoid a hill: it went over a tedious piece of ground called Peeling
Moss; the whole road being four miles in length, with some part
strong rock, which was to be blasted with gunpowder.—In taking this
road, Metcalf met with strong opposition from a son of one of the
commissioners; but Peter Legh, Esq; of Lyme, and another gentleman,
supporting Metcalf, he gained the point, and completed the undertaking,
with several drains and fence walls; for which he received near eleven
hundred pounds.

He next took a mile and an half of High-Flats, between Huddersfield and
Sheffield; and finished it likewise, to the amount of three hundred
pounds.

Eight miles of road were next advertised to be made between
Huddersfield and Halifax. A meeting was held, and several persons
attended with estimates for making it. One part was very rocky, and
full of hollows, and the ground in a very bad situation, particularly
between Elland and Saltershebble, and through a place called Grimscar
Wood, which was very boggy and rough. Many were of opinion that it was
impossible to make a road over that ground. But by building up the
hollows, and lowering the hills, Metcalf accomplished it:—And it is
worthy of remark, that he never undertook any road which he did not
complete, altho’ he has taken many which persons who had their sight
durst not engage in. He finished the road, with a great number of fence
walls and drains, to the satisfaction of the surveyors and trustees,
and received for it two thousand seven hundred and eleven pounds.

A little after this, a road was advertised to be made between Congleton
and the Red-Bull Inn, in Cheshire, about six miles in length; but the
materials were about three miles distant in several places. A meeting
for letting this road was held at a place called Audersley, which
Metcalf attended; and being a stranger in that part, he fortunately met
with three gentlemen who knew him, viz. —— Clows of Macclesfield,
—— Downs of Sigleigh, and —— Wright of Mottram, Esqrs. two of them
Justices of the Peace.—They said to the trustees, “Gentlemen, you
have only to agree with this man, and you may be assured of having
your work well done.” The road, however, was not let that day, the
business being deferred until another meeting to be held at Congleton,
where Metcalf and others attended with estimates.—“Gentlemen,” said
Metcalf, “I am a stranger to you, and you may with reason question my
performing the bargain; but to prevent any doubt, I will first do one
hundred pounds worth of work, and afterwards be reasonably paid as it
goes forward; the hundred pounds may lay in the treasurer’s hands till
the whole is completed, and then to be paid.” On this proposal, and the
three gentlemen’s recommendation at the former meeting, they agreed
with him, although there was an estimate given in lower than his by two
hundred pounds. He completed the road, to the great satisfaction of the
surveyor and trustees, and received three thousand pounds.

During the time that Metcalf was engaged in making this road, having
one day occasion to stop at Congleton, he met, at the Swan inn there,
one Warburton, a capital farmer, who lived about a mile distant. This
man was remarkable for sporting large sums in various ways, and no
sooner saw Metcalf, than he accosted him thus: “I understand that you
play at cards.”—Metcalf replied, “Sometimes, but not often;” being
much surprised that a stranger should know he had that propensity.
Warburton offered to play him for five or ten pounds, the best of five
games at put; but this he thought fit to decline: in the presence of
his friends he would not have feared to play for twenty; but being
in a strange place, and having a large undertaking relative to the
turnpikes, he concluded that it would be highly imprudent to game. The
farmer, however, persisting in his desire for play, Metcalf, after a
little consideration, determined to try the effect of ridicule on his
new acquaintance, saying, “I have not now time; but if you will meet me
here this day fortnight, I will play you, the best of five games, for
a leg of mutton, four-pennyworth of cabbage, and five shillings worth
of punch.” The farmer, pleased with any prospect of engaging him,
agreed to the wager, and insisted that the money should be deposited
with the landlord; which was accordingly done. During the interval,
Warburton spread the story of his engagement to play with a blind
man; and, thinking it a good joke, invited many of his friends to the
entertainment. Metcalf came at the time fixed, having first engaged
a friend from Buxton to accompany him, whose chief business it was
to see that his adversary did not play tricks with the cards. Three
guineas to two were offered to be laid on Warburton; and Metcalf’s
friend observing this, expressed a wish to take the odds, if agreeable
to him: to this, Metcalf replied, that he meant only to amuse himself
by playing for mutton and cabbage; and, that if any sums were laid, he
would forfeit his wager. When all parties were assembled, Metcalf, out
of joke, proposed to his adversary to club for all the articles, and
treat the company; but this he positively refused, alledging that he
had collected his friends for the purpose of seeing the match played.
On this, Metcalf called to the landlord for a fiddle, and playing on it
for a little while, was asked by the farmer what he meant: “To enable
you,” said he, “to tell your children, that when you played with a
blind man, you _played to some tune_!” They then went into a large
room, and were followed by a crowd of people, amongst whom were two
Justices of the Peace, and several clergymen. The game now began, and
Metcalf won the two first; his adversary got the third, and pulling
out his purse, offered to lay five guineas on the rubber: this was a
tickling offer to Metcalf, but having resolved against playing for
money, he made shift to overcome the temptation. Metcalf won the next
game; and, of course, the rubber. On this the farmer laid a large sum
on the table, and offered to play for the amount; but Metcalf would
only play for liquor, for the good of the company. The farmer agreeing,
they began again, and Metcalf presently won two games, when a gentleman
present shewed a great desire to play with him for money, but in vain;
so winning this rubber also, he saddled his antagonist with the whole
score, and not satisfied with the triumph already gained, began to
banter him sorely on his _childish_ manner of playing, and telling him,
that when the road work should cease for the Christmas holidays, he
would come to his house, and teach him to play like a _man_.

The quantity of liquor yet to come in being large, detained many of the
company until five in the morning; and Warburton, who had got pretty
drunk, by way of comfort, declared before parting, that of twenty-two
fine cows, he would rather have lost the best, than have been beaten so
publicly.

Metcalf apprehending that he might now be solicited by many to engage
in play, and considering the importance of his other engagements,
called aside Mr. Rolle, the surveyor of the road, and begged of him to
give sixpence, upon condition of receiving five pounds, if he (Metcalf)
should play any more at cards for eighteen months, the time allotted to
finish the road. Mr. Rolle approving highly of this, they returned to
the company, and Metcalf making the proposal, received the surveyor’s
sixpence publicly; and thus put an end to all further importunity.

Here Metcalf finds it his duty to suspend, for a while, his road-making
narrative, to introduce, for the last time, the mention of the
much-loved Partner of his cares, whom he had brought into Cheshire,
and left at Stockport, that she might avail herself of the medical
advice of a person there, famed for the cure of rheumatic complaints,
of which description her’s was thought to be:—But human aid proving
ineffectual, she there died, in the summer 1778, after thirty-nine
years of conjugal felicity, which was never interrupted but by her
illness or his occasional absence.

In his treatment of her, Metcalf never lost sight of the original
distinction in their circumstances, always indulging her to the utmost
that his own would allow; but she had no unreasonable desires to
gratify. She died in the sixty-first year of her age, leaving four
children; and was buried in Stockport church-yard.

In 1781 the road between Wetherby and Knaresborough was let.—He
undertook that part which led through Ribston and Kirk-Deighten, till
it joined the great North road, leading from Boroughbridge to Wetherby;
and also built two toll-houses upon the road; and received about three
hundred and eighty pounds.

Metcalf had a daughter married in Cheshire, to a person in the stocking
business. The manufacturers in this line, in the neighbourhood of
Stockport, talked of getting loads of money; and Metcalf thought that
he would have a portion of it also: he accordingly got six jennies and
a carding engine made, with other utensils proper for the business;
bought a quantity of cotton, and spun yarn for sale, as several others
did in the country. But it cost him much trouble and expence, before
he got all his utensils fixed: the speculation, likewise failed; and
a time came when no yarn could be sold without loss. Then Metcalf
got looms, and other implements proper for weaving calicoes, jeans,
and velverets:—for having made the cotton business an object of
particular attention, he was become very well acquainted with the
various branches of it. He got a quantity of calicoes whitened and
printed, his velverets cut, dyed, &c. and having spun up all his
cotton, he set off with about eight hundred yards of finished goods,
intending to sell them in Yorkshire, which he did at Knaresborough and
in the neighbourhood; and his son-in-law was to employ his jennies
until he came back. On his return, coming to Marsden near Huddersfield,
where he had made a road some years before, he found that there was
to be a meeting, to let the making of a mile and an half of road, and
the building of a bridge over; the river that runs by the town, so as
to leave the former road, in order to avoid the steepness of a hill.
At the persuasion of some of his friends, he staid till the meeting,
and agreed with the trustees. The bridge was to be twelve yards in the
span, and nine yards in breadth. These too he completed, and received
a thousand pounds; but the season being wet, and the ground over which
he had to bring his materials very swampy, and at a distance from the
road, he lost considerably by it.

In 1789 he was informed that there was a great quantity of road to be
let in Lancashire: he accordingly went, and took a part between Bury
and Eslington, and another part from Eslington to Ackrington; as also
a branch from that to Blackburn. There were such hollows to fill, and
hills to be taken down, to form the level, as was never done before:
in several of the hollows the walls were ten yards high, before the
battlements were put on the top. He had two summers allowed to finish
this work in; but the trade in Lancashire being brisk, made wages very
high, and the navigation at that time cutting through the country so
employed the men, that it was a very difficult matter to procure a
sufficiency of hands. The first summer the rains were so perpetual,
that he lost about two hundred pounds; but in the next he completed the
whole work, and received by the hands of Mr. Carr of Blackburn three
thousand five hundred pounds; and, after all, was forty pounds loser by
it.

In the year 1792 he returned into Yorkshire; and having no engagement
to employ his attention, he bought hay to sell again, measuring the
stacks with his arms; and having learnt the height, he could readily
tell what number of square yards were contained, from five to one
hundred pounds value. Sometimes he bought a little wood standing;
and if he could get the girth and height, would calculate the solid
contents.

From that period he has settled on a small holding at Spofforth, near
Wetherby; and his house is kept by a daughter and son-in-law.

At Christmas, 1794, he paid a visit to the present Colonel Thornton,
and his mother, at Thornville-Royal; and the reception he met with was
such as fully reminded him of former days at Old Thornville, where he
had spent many Christmasses. The truly respectable Relict, and the
worthy Representative, of his late Commander, always receive Blind Jack
with a condescending affability, highly flattering to one in his humble
station.

Having known the streets of York very accurately in the earlier part of
his life, he determined, on the commencement of the last year, to visit
once more that ancient city, where he had not been for the space of
thirty-two years: He found alterations for the better in Spurriergate,
Blakestreet, the Pavement, &c. and being now in the neighbourhood of
Middlethorp, where he had, in the year 1735, spent a half-year so
happily, he resolved to have another _look_ at it, in the possession
of its present worthy master. From Mr. Barlow’s house there is a road
which leads to Bishopthorpe; and this road he clearly recollected,
though sixty years had elapsed since he had gone that way before:
so retentive was his memory on this occasion, that he discovered an
alteration in the hanging of two gates by a wall-side near the above
mansion. At Mr. Barlow’s he staid several nights, which, he scarcely
need add, were spent most agreeably, he endeavouring to make his fiddle
speak the satisfaction and hilarity felt by its owner. Returning to
York, he spent a few nights at the house of another friend; and setting
out on the 10th of January, 1795, he walked to Green Hammerton, in his
way to Thornville-Royal, in about three hours and an half, being ten
miles; proceeded to Thornville that night, and to Knaresborough next
morning the 10th, which being the birth-day of Sir Thomas Slingsby’s
eldest son, and which was kept with the utmost festivity, he resolved
to spend at the worthy Baronet’s. Here he closed the festive season
of Christmas, after a tour of some weeks amongst his friends;—to
whom, in particular, he submits, with the utmost deference, this
imperfect Sketch of a LIFE, with which only can terminate his grateful
remembrance of their numerous favours.


_FINIS._




Transcriber’s Notes.

 1. Silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical
    errors.

 2. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.

 3. For clarity the l. s. d. currency symbols have been _italicised_.



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