THELIFEOFJOHN 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 himmuch 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 encouragedMetcalf 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 inmatters 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 thechurch?” 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 intobed 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 inthe 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. Largepieces 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 theyarn 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 fasteningthem 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 whenany 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 theheads, 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.—Metcalfbeing 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 notclimb 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 ofhisgetting 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 diligentlyto 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 hisrentsfailed 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) andhis 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 andwatered, 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 trustme.”—“Ishall 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 Metcalfcleared 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 nowcome 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 thedarkas 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 andswampy 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, butit 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 thinkso?”—“Well, I judge so from the appearance of hiseyes.”—“Eyes!bless you, Sir,” rejoined the landlord, “do not you know that he is BLIND?”—“What do you mean by that?”—“I mean, Sir, thathe 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 twoguineas, 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 ofhisapplication: 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 tolay 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 withinwhipping, distance ofhim, 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 perhapsask, “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 theyoungwoman’s room, he met theoldone 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 calledloudly 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 hecould 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. Havingtrotted the horse a mile or two, he returned, telling the owner that theeyesof 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 ofliquor, 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 hadstruck 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 withoutMicklegate-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 himlame; 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 hisdemand, 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 wouldseea gate on his right hand, to which he should fasten the horse, and leaving him for the owner, proceed. Metcalf notseeingthe 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 neversawthe 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 atthat 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 employedspecially, 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’sand 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 happeningat 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 proportionateresistance. 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 lanewhich 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 tolaugh 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 itpossiblethat arealassignation was intended; and being too gallant to disappoint alady, 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 thechurch, 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 notseenthe 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, tosound 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 affairfor 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 thehounds, 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 hispocketto 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, thathe 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.