Читать книгу: «The Strange Story Book», страница 9

'Confound thee! thou always goest to the gate heel instead of the head.'

'He does seem a little awkward,' observed the gentleman. 'Let me try: mine is rather good at a gate,' and as he spoke he rode forward and swung it open.

It was now quite dark, and though of course that made no difference to Metcalfe, his companion had much ado to see his way. However, he followed his guide carefully and at length they found themselves in the streets of Knaresborough.

'Let us stop and have a bottle of wine,' said the stranger, for he was tired from being so many hours in the saddle; but Jack told him that the horses were too hot to think of halting, and they pressed on. By and bye as they were passing under an oil lamp hung by a chain across the road, a boy cried out:

'That's Blind Jack!'

'Not he,' answered another; 'that fellow is much too dark.' Jack chuckled to himself as he listened to them, but never turned his head.

Over the bridge they went and into the forest.

'What is that light I see?' asked the gentleman when they had gone a little distance. His guide guessed that it must be a will-o'-the-wisp from some swampy ground that lay there, but was careful not to betray himself by saying so lest he should be mistaken.

'Do you not see two lights?' he inquired by way of making some answer; 'one on the right and the other on the left.'

'No; I can only distinguish one – one on the right,' replied the stranger.

'Then that is Harrogate,' said Jack. 'We shall soon be there now,' and in a quarter of an hour they drew rein in the courtyard of the Granby inn. Early hours were kept in those days and the ostler had gone to bed, so Jack, who knew the place well, stabled the horses himself after rubbing them down. He then went into the inn where his companion was seated by the fire, with a pewter pot of hot spiced wine beside him.

'You must be as cold and tired as I am,' observed the gentleman; 'it is your turn to have a drink.' To his surprise, Metcalfe, who happened to be thinking of something else, stretched out his hand at first very wide of the mark, a fact which did not escape the stranger's eye, though Jack at once recollected himself, and, noting from what direction the voice proceeded, picked up the tankard, took a good draught and left the room.

'My guide must have drunk a good deal, landlord, since we arrived,' then said the gentleman.

'And what makes you think so, sir?' asked the landlord.

'Well, his eyes look so odd, and he fumbled about so after the tankard.'

'Yes, sir? Why, don't you know he is blind?'

'Blind!' echoed the stranger; 'impossible!'

'Yes, sir, as blind as a bat.'

'Blind!' repeated the gentleman again. 'Call him back. I should like to speak to him,' and as Jack entered he exclaimed:

'My friend, is it really true that you are blind?'

'It is indeed, sir. I lost my sight when I was six years old.'

'Had I known that, I would not have ventured with you for a hundred pounds.'

'And I, sir, would not have lost my way for a thousand,' answered Jack with a laugh, as he pocketed the two guineas held out to him.

Metcalfe, as we know, was fond of races, like a true Yorkshire-man, and he often ran his horse for private bets. On one occasion he laid a wager with some other young men that he would win what would now be called a point-to-point race – that is, posts were set up at different places for the distance of a mile, and the competitors were bound to pass each of them. The whole course was three miles, and they were obliged to go round it three times. Every man was to ride his own horse, and as it seemed almost impossible that even Blind Jack should be able to stick to the course, the odds were heavy against him.

On the morning of the race Jack might have been seen by anyone who had got up early enough, going round to the four inns that Knaresborough contained, and coming away from each with a big dinner-bell in his hand, and numbers of little ones in a bag. These he distributed among his friends, and ordered them to stand out at every post, and at a certain number of yards in between. As the bells were to be rung in turn, he had a perfect chain of sound to guide him the entire distance. With the help of this, he felt he had no reason to fear any rivals, and, as his horse was both fast and steady, he easily won the race.

When the cheers of the crowd had somewhat died down, a gentleman named Skelton came up to Metcalfe and offered to make a bet with him that he would not gallop a certain horse of his for a hundred and fifty yards, and pull him up within two hundred. The horse chosen was noted for having a very hard mouth, and to be ready to bolt at every opportunity.

Metcalfe never refused a wager and accepted this one eagerly, but stipulated that he should be allowed to select his own ground.

'Very well,' answered Skelton; 'but remember there must be no hedges or walls. Do you agree to that?'

'I agree,' said Metcalfe; 'see that the stakes are deposited, and I will let you know later where the wager shall come off.'

The day was fixed for the following Saturday, and the night before, Skelton received a message bidding him to be at the old Spa not far from Harrogate at eleven o'clock. He arrived punctually, but found Metcalfe and his horse there before him. Now Blind Jack knew what Skelton did not, that about a hundred and fifty yards from the old Spa there was a very large bog, in which three weeks earlier a traveller had got stuck in the dark, and would inevitably have been sucked down had not Jack heard his cries and managed to rescue him. The few minutes before the appearance of Skelton had been used by the cunning youth to place a friend near the entrance of the bog, with orders to stand with his back to the wind and sing a song at the top of his voice. This was to be Blind Jack's guide to the direction he wanted.

'I am quite ready, you see,' he cried, as Skelton rode up. 'Give the word and I will start.'

'Go!' said Skelton, and away the horse bounded at the top of his speed straight into the bog, which held him like a vice. Cautiously Metcalfe dismounted and picked his way as well as he was able till he was on firm ground again, when he demanded the money he had won, which was at once handed over to him. He then went back to extricate his horse, but this was no easy matter, for, in his flounderings to get free, the poor beast had only sunk deeper and deeper. However, by the help of two or three men who had been watching the wager, this was at last accomplished, and Jack rode smilingly home, both man and horse covered with dirt up to their necks.

Jack grew up a great deal more quickly than most boys, and by the time he was twenty had fallen very much in love with a girl called Dorothy Benson, who lived at Harrogate. For a long while they only met secretly, as both well knew that the elder Bensons would never allow their daughter to marry a man who was not only poor and blind, but earned his living by fiddling at balls all over the country.

Matters were in this state when Jack, who had not been to Harrogate for seven months, suddenly heard that he had a rival. This was a prosperous shoemaker called Dickinson, much favoured by Dolly's parents, and they seemed to have pressed her so hard to accept the man that she consented to have the banns published in church. This news woke up Metcalfe, who, thinking he had won Dolly's heart, was taking things rather easily, and he at once resolved that Miss Benson should be the wife of no one but himself, and after much consideration he laid his plans.

Now Dickinson, in order to celebrate his marriage, had arranged to give a dinner to two hundred of his workpeople, and this took place on a Saturday in his native parish of Kirkby-Overblow. The wedding was fixed for Monday, and for some reason it was to be at Knaresborough, though the breakfast was to be held at Harrogate.

On the Sunday Blind Jack came to Harrogate and was riding past the hotel of the Royal Oak, when he was startled at the sound of a voice close to him saying:

'One wants to speak with you.' He pulled up his horse in surprise, but instantly recognised the voice to be that of a maid of the Bensons. She turned towards the stables, telling him to follow, and there was Mistress Dolly herself, anxious and excited, as he guessed by the tremor of her tone as she said:

'I knew you would come, so I sent for you.'

'Well, lass,' he answered, pretending not to care, though his heart was beating fast; 'thou's going to have a merry day to-morrow; am I to be the fiddler?'

'Thou never shalt fiddle at my wedding,' replied she.

'Why – what have I done?' asked Metcalfe, bent on teasing her; but she only answered darkly that matters might not end as some folks thought they would, and she might wish things done another way. But, though her words might not have seemed very plain to another person, Metcalfe understood.

'What! Wouldst thou rather have me? Canst thou bear starving?'

'Yes,' said she; 'with thee I can.'

So that was settled, and nothing remained but to arrange when and how Dolly could escape from the house.

'Thou must put a light in thy window when everyone is asleep to-night,' said Jack.

'A light!' cried Dolly; 'but what good is that to thee?'

'Ay, a light; and as for the "good," leave that to me,' answered Jack, who had already thought of a friend to help him. 'And now farewell, lest they should seek for thee.'

That evening he went to a trusty man, who was ostler at the inn of the World's End, and told him his story.

'Canst thou borrow thy master's mare for the night?' asked Jack anxiously. 'She is used to carry double, and my horse is not.'

'Ay, if she is in her stable before morning,' replied the ostler; and then Jack begged him to be at Raffle's shop at ten o'clock, and to whistle when he got there by way of a signal.

Ten o'clock found them both at the appointed place, but they had to wait some time before the ostler announced that the promised light was in the window. Leaving both horses tied up a little way off – for Metcalfe had brought his own – they stole up to the Bensons' house and gave a faint tap at the door. Dolly was expecting Jack and came out, shutting the door after her.

'Not so fast,' said he; 'hast thou not brought any gowns? It would be well, as thou mayst not see thy mother for some time; and where is thy new pillion and cloth that thy father gavest thee?'

'Oh dear!' she replied, 'I had forgotten all that. I have nineteen or twenty gowns, and sure, I cannot bring them all. The pillion is in the other part of the house, but we must have it. As the door is shut, I will wake my sister, but she can keep a silent tongue.' She then threw some gravel at her sister's window, which, like her own, looked out on to the street, and in another moment the door was opened by Mistress Anne.

'I want my new tabby gown and the pillion,' whispered Dolly; and her sister, who knew more about the whole affair than Dolly had any idea of, showed no surprise at her request or at the sight of the two men standing in the shadow.

'The pillion? But it is in the room where Dickinson is lying,' she answered in some dismay.

'Oh, never mind, I will get it!' said Dolly, and, going upstairs, softly entered the room, which was lit by moonlight, and took up the pillion and cloth, which had been placed on a chair.

'Who is that?' asked Dickinson, awakened by her entrance.

'It is only me,' said the girl; 'I've come to fetch the pillion, so that I may brush it and have it ready for to-morrow.'

'That's well thought on,' replied the bridegroom; and, turning on his pillow, he fell asleep again.

Metcalfe smiled as he heard the latch lifted, and took the pillion from her. The ostler put it on his master's mare, then jumping into the saddle, swung Dolly up behind him. Metcalfe mounted his own horse, and they rode away twelve miles to the house of a clergyman whom he had often met on the hunting field. The good man took some time to wake, but at length he came down, and, when he found out what was required of him, hurried into his gown and bands without asking questions, and in a few minutes Dorothy Benson had become Mistress John Metcalfe. This time it was Jack who mounted the landlord's mare, and leaving Dolly at the house of a much-astonished friend five miles from Harrogate, himself placed the borrowed animal in its stall at the World's End. He was only just in time, for the landlord had taken a fancy to start early for Knaresborough, and it would have gone hard with the ostler had the mare not been in its place.

Then Jack went to the Queen's Head, and played his fiddle as he often did, while the guests were breakfasting.

By this time Dolly's elopement had been discovered, but nobody suspected Jack of being concerned in it till a young man, who had been one of the girl's suitors and had noticed more than her family had done, told her brother that he had better go and question Blind Jack. The culprit, when asked, at once told the whole story and declared that he had only stolen Dolly away from her home because he knew that her parents would never consent to their marriage.

And in this he was right, for they both vowed that if they ever met him they would kill him; and it was not till Dolly had some children to show them, that she was taken into favour again.

BLIND JACK AGAIN

Would you like to hear some more of Blind Jack? This story tells how he joined the army of the Duke of Cumberland, which was sent to fight Prince Charlie and the Highlanders in 1745.

There was great excitement in York when the news came that the Scotch were marching south, and measures were taken to raise 4,000 men for the defence of the country. £90,000 was very soon subscribed in the county, and this large sum was intended to clothe and pay volunteers during the time their services were needed. The gentlemen of Yorkshire held a meeting in the castle to discuss the matter, and Blind Jack's old friend, Thornton, was present. When the meeting was over he rode back to Knaresborough and sent for Metcalfe, whom he asked to help him enlist some soldiers, and further begged him to join the company himself, which Jack, always on the look out for a fresh adventure, was delighted to do. He lost no time in going round to the men he knew in his native town, and was ready to promise anything that he thought was likely to gain him what he wanted. He even assured these carpenters and blacksmiths and ostlers and ploughmen that they would find themselves colonels of regiments, or holding some well-paid post under the king, as soon as the war – or bustle as he termed it – was over.

Out of the hundred and forty men who agreed to enlist on receiving five shillings a head from Captain Thornton, sixty-four were chosen and clad in uniforms of blue cloth, with buff facings and waistcoats, made by Leeds tailors. These tailors were not at all anxious to hurry, and declined to work on Sunday, upon which the captain sent an indignant message to ask whether, if their houses caught fire on a Sunday, they would not try to put the flames out? The tailors were more easily convinced than they would have been at present, and, on receiving the message, instantly crossed their legs and took up their needles, and in a very few days the new soldiers were strutting about in their fine clothes or attending drill, while waiting for the swords and muskets which were coming down from the arsenal in the Tower of London. Then the captain invited them all to stay at Thorneville, and every other day a fat ox was killed for their dinners.

At last they were ready, and off they marched to Boroughbridge, where General Wade's army was halting on its way to the north. Very smart the recruits looked, and none was smarter than Blind Jack, who stood six feet two inches in his stockings. In the evenings he always went to the captain's quarters, and played 'Britons, strike home,' and other popular tunes, on his fiddle. The captain's friends, who came over to see what was going on, pressed him to play one thing after another, and, when they took their leave, pulled out their purses and offered the musician a guinea or two. But Jack always refused the money, as he knew that Thornton would not like him to take it.

From Boroughbridge they marched to Newcastle to join General Pulteney. Winter had now set in, and snow often fell heavily, and during a heavy storm the troops started on their march westwards to Hexham. They had a terrible day's journey to their first stopping-place seven miles away, and it sometimes took three or four hours to accomplish one single mile. Although the ground was frozen hard, all sorts of obstacles had to be overcome, and ditches filled up, so that the artillery and baggage-waggons might pass over. When at last a halt was sounded, after fifteen hours' march, the frost was so intense that no tent-pegs could be driven into the earth, and the men were forced to be on the ground without any cover.

After various marches backwards and forwards along the northern line, Thornton's company, now attached to General Hawley's, reached Edinburgh and proceeded to Falkirk, where the Highland army was encamped three miles away. It was very cold and the wind blew the rain straight in the faces of the English, and also wetted their powder, so that their guns were quite useless. The general, observing this, ordered the troops to fall back on Linlithgow, which afforded more shelter, and as soon as the town was reached many of the tired men entered the houses to get their wet clothes dried, or borrow fresh ones, little thinking that the Highlanders were close upon them. A large number of English prisoners were taken in the sudden surprise of the attack, and among them twenty of Thornton's men. The captain himself was just leaving the house in which he had taken refuge, when he heard the bagpipes close to him. Quickly and noiselessly he rushed upstairs, and opening the first door he saw, stood behind it. It was a poor chance of escape, but the only one that offered itself. Luck, however, attended him, for a man merely put his head into the room and exclaimed, 'None of the rascals are here,' and went off to search the rest of the house in the same manner.

As soon as the Highlanders had disappeared down the street, the mistress of the house, who had seen the captain's hurried flight up the staircase, went to him and begged him to hide in a closet at one end of the room, which he gladly did. She next dragged a sort of kitchen dresser in front of the cupboard and piled plates and dishes on it, so that no one would have guessed there was any door behind. Fortunately the closet door did not touch the floor by a couple of inches, so that the woman was able to thrust in food underneath. In his dripping wet clothes and in this cupboard about five feet square, the captain remained for nearly a week, in a room which was constantly full of Highlanders, among them being Prince Charlie's secretary, Murray of Broughton.

All this time Blind Jack was busy searching for his master. He had been present at the battle of Falkirk with the rest of the company, and when the order for retreat was given he found his way to a widow's house a little way from the town, where the captain had left two of his horses. There they were, safe in the stable, and Metcalfe hastily saddled them both. He was leading out the first when some Highlanders came up.

'We must have that beast,' said they.

'You will have nothing of the sort,' answered Metcalfe.

'Shoot him,' said one of the men, and as Metcalfe heard them cock their muskets he exclaimed quickly:

'Why do you want him?'

'For the Prince,' they replied; and Jack, understanding that he must give way, answered:

'If it is for the Prince, you must have him of course,' and waited till the sound of their footsteps died away. He then led out the other horse, which they had not noticed, and was about to jump on his back when Thornton's coachman, who had also been seeking his master, came up. They both mounted the horse and rode to join the army, with which Metcalfe marched on to Linlithgow and afterwards to Edinburgh.

Thornton's company were one and all very anxious about their captain and could not imagine what had become of him. They knew the names of the men who had been taken prisoners and of those who were killed in battle, but Thornton had disappeared as completely as if the earth had swallowed him up. The matter reached the ears of the superior officers in Edinburgh, and, hearing that Metcalfe was one of the troop, sent for him to give them what information he could, and also because they were curious to see this blind volunteer. But Jack could tell them nothing new; only that, if the captain was alive, he would find him.

Now he happened to have met in Edinburgh a Knaresborough man who had joined Prince Charlie, and this fellow might, Jack thought, be of great help to him in his search. So he sought the man out, and told him that he was tired of serving with the English and felt sure they would be badly beaten, and he would like a place as musician to Prince Charlie. The Knaresborough man at once fell into the trap and replied that an Irish spy was going to join the Prince at Falkirk immediately, and Metcalfe might go with him and ask for an interview.

The first difficulty was with the English sentries in Edinburgh, who refused to let them pass; but Jack overcame this by demanding to be taken before the officer on guard, to whom he explained the real object of his journey.

'Give it up, give it up! my good fellow,' said the captain; 'it is certain death to a man with two eyes, and you have none, though you manage to do so well without them.' But Metcalfe would not listen, so he and the Irishman were allowed to proceed, and after various adventures arrived safely in Falkirk.

All this time, as we have said, Thornton had been caged up in the cupboard in his wet clothes, till he was almost too stiff to stoop to pick up his food when the woman thrust it under his door. He caught a bad cold besides, and more than once could not restrain his cough, even when he knew the soldiers were in the room. They heard it of course, but as the partitions were very thin, they took for granted it was next door, for the dresser completely hid all trace of an opening.

But by Monday night he felt he could not stay in the closet any longer, and when the woman brought him his provisions for the next day he told her that he would not die there like a rat in a hole, but would come out whatever it cost him.

'Remain there till to-morrow night,' she said, 'and I will contrive some way of escape for you,' and so the poor captain was forced to pass another twenty-four hours in his most uncomfortable prison. Then, when the soldiers had all gone off to their night duty, the landlady brought a carpenter whom she could trust to take away the dresser. Oh! how thankful the captain was to stretch himself again, and to put on a Highland dress and a black wig which the woman brought him. He had only ten guineas with him, and eight of them he thankfully gave to the landlady while the other two he bestowed on the carpenter. As he was bid, he slung over his shoulder a bag of tools, and hid himself downstairs till it grew light and people were setting out to work, when he and the carpenter started together just four hours before Metcalfe entered Falkirk. On the way to Edinburgh they had a terrible fright, and narrowly escaped falling into the hands of a large body of Highlanders, but at length they reached a house belonging to a friend of the carpenter's, who lent Thornton a horse, which carried him in safety to Edinburgh.

Metcalfe meanwhile had fared rather badly. His dress, consisting of a plaid waistcoat which he had borrowed, and a blue coat faced with buff, the uniform of his company, had attracted the attention of the Highlanders. He told them that he had been fiddling for the English officers, who had given him the coat (which belonged, he said, to a man killed in the battle) as payment. The men would have been satisfied had not a person chanced to pass who had often seen Jack at Harrogate, and said:

'You had better not let him go without a search; I don't like the look of him.' Accordingly Metcalfe was removed to the guard-room and his clothes examined all over to see if they concealed any letters. The guard even split in two a pack of cards which Metcalfe had in his pocket, imagining that he might have contrived to slip a piece of thin paper between the thick edges of the cardboard then used. The cards, however, had not been employed for this purpose, and after three days' confinement in a loft Metcalfe was tried by court-martial and acquitted, and given besides permission to go to the Prince. By this time, however, he had somehow discovered that Thornton had escaped from Falkirk, so he was only anxious to return to the British army as fast as he could. The Irish spy was equally desirous of taking letters to Edinburgh to some of the friends of Prince Charlie, who were to be found there, but did not know how to pass the English sentries, a difficulty easily solved by Blind Jack, who assured him that he would tell them he was going to Captain Thornton.

Not far from the English outposts the two travellers met with an officer who knew Metcalfe, and informed him to his great delight that the captain was in Edinburgh, so when the sentries were passed he bade farewell to the Irishman after promising to meet him the next night, and went straight to the captain.

'You have given me a great deal of trouble,' was Metcalfe's greeting. 'Really, people might manage to come home from market without being fetched.'

'Well, so I did,' answered Thornton with a laugh. 'But what is to be done now, as I have neither clothes nor cash?'

'Oh, I can get you both!' replied Metcalfe; 'some friends I have here have often heard me speak of you, and they will trust you for payment.' And he was as good as his word, and quickly borrowed thirty pounds, which provided the captain with all the clothes he wanted.

In January 1746 the Duke of Cumberland, Commander-in-Chief of the English army, arrived in Edinburgh, and as Thornton was a great friend of his, the Duke heard all his adventures and the share Blind Jack had taken in them. He then sent for Metcalfe, and being much interested in his story often watched him on the march, and noticed, to his surprise, that, by listening to the drum, Jack was able to keep step with the rest.

The British forces proceeded northwards as far as Aberdeen, where the Duke suddenly determined to give a ball to the ladies and begged that Thornton would allow Metcalfe to play the country dances, as the wind instruments of the German musicians were unsuitable. It must have been rather a strange ball, as up to the last moment it was quite uncertain whether they might not have to fight instead of dance, and the invitations were only sent out at five o'clock for the company to assemble at six. Twenty-five couples were present and kept Metcalfe hard at work till two the next morning; the Duke, then about twenty-five, dancing away with the rest.

The English then turned westwards and defeated the Highlanders at Culloden, near Inverness, after which all British prisoners were set free, and the volunteers returned home.

Captain Thornton and Metcalfe rode back together as far as Knaresborough, where they parted company. Blind Jack's wife had suffered a great deal of anxiety during the eight months of his absence, for she knew that his love of adventure would thrust him into all kinds of unnecessary dangers. But here he was, none the worse for the hardships he had gone through, and in the best of spirits, but, to Dolly's great relief, quite ready to stay at home for a bit.

According to his own account – and again we ask ourselves how much we may believe of Metcalfe's amazing story – there was no end to the different trades he carried on successfully for the rest of his life. He soon grew restless and went to Aberdeen to buy a large supply of stockings, which he sold at a profit among his Yorkshire friends; for a while he became a horse dealer, feeling the animals all over before he made an offer to purchase, so that he knew exactly what condition they were in, and their good and bad points. He next turned smuggler, getting a great deal of excitement out of cheating the Government, and finally took to building bridges and making roads. In 1751 he started a coach between York and Knaresborough, which he drove himself. It ran twice a week in the summer and once in the winter; and as soon as he grew tired of this employment, for he detested being obliged to do things at stated times, he managed with his usual luck to get the business taken off his hands.

We bid farewell to him in 1795 when he was seventy-eight, but still strong and active and able to walk ten miles in three and a half hours. His friendship with Colonel Thornton was as fast as ever, and he remained a welcome guest in several of the big houses round York and Knaresborough. And if perhaps he was not quite so wonderful a person as he thought, and saw some of his deeds through a magnifying glass, there is no doubt that he was a very uncommon man, worthy of all admiration for not allowing his life to be spoilt by his blindness.