Chapter II: Part 2

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.