Chapter V: Part 5

On the entrance of the two gentlemen into his house Kingston did not lose a moment in giving them their money's worth. He was having breakfast, and after inviting them to sit down, took up his cup between his big toe and the next, and drank off his tea without spilling a drop. After waiting till he had buttered his toast and eaten as much as he wanted, Mr. Walton then 'put half a sheet of paper upon the floor, with a pen and an ink-horn. Kingston threw off his shoes as he sat, took the ink-horn in the toes of his left foot, and held the pen in those of his right. He then wrote three lines as well as most ordinary writers, and as swiftly. He writes out,' continues Walton, 'his bills and other accounts. He then showed how he shaves with a razor in his toes, and how he combs his own hair. He can dress and undress himself, except buttoning his clothes,' which really does not sound half as difficult as many of his other performances. 'He feeds himself and can bring both his meat and his broth to his mouth, by holding the fork or spoon in his toes. He cleans his own shoes; can clean the knives, light the fire, and do almost every domestic business as well as any other man. He can make his hen-coops. He is a farmer by occupation; he can milk his cows with his toes, and cut his own hay, bind it up in bundles, and carry it about the field for his cattle. Last winter he had eight heifers constantly to fodder. The last summer he made all his own hay-ricks. He can do all the business of the hay-field (except mowing) as fast and as well with only his feet, as others can with rakes and forks; he goes to the field and catches his horse; he saddles and bridles him with his feet and toes. If he has a sheep among his flock that ails anything, he can separate it from the rest, drive it into a corner, and catch it when nobody else can; he then examines it, and applies a remedy to it. He is so strong in his teeth that he can lift ten pecks of beans with them; he can throw a great sledge-hammer with his feet as other men can with their hands. In a word, he can do nearly as much without, as other men can with, their hands.'

'He began the world with a hen and chicken; with the profit of these he purchased an ewe. The sale of these procured him a ragged colt and then a better; after this he raised a few sheep, and now occupies a small farm.'

It would be interesting to know how many of these astonishing feats Mr. Walton actually saw Kingston perform. But at any rate we put down his letter with the impression that to be born _with_ fingers is a distinct disadvantage.

_THE SON OF THE WOLF CHIEF_

Once upon a time a town near the North Pacific Ocean suffered greatly from famine and many of the Indians who lived there died of hunger. It was terrible to see them sitting before their doors, too weak and listless to move, and waiting silently and hopelessly for death to come. But there was one boy who behaved quite differently from the rest of the tribe. For some reason or other _he_ seemed quite strong on his legs, and all day long he would go into the fields or the woods, with his bow and arrows slung to his back, hoping to bring back a supper for himself and his mother.

One morning when he was out as usual, he found a little animal that looked like a dog. It was such a round, funny little thing that he could not bear to kill it, so he put it under his warm blanket, and carried it home, and as it was very dirty from rolling about in the mud and snow, his mother washed it for him. When it was quite clean, the boy fetched some red paint which his uncle who had died of famine had used for smearing over their faces, and put it on the dog's head and legs so that he might always be able to trace it when they were hunting together.

The boy got up early next morning and took his dog into the woods and the hills. The little beast was very quick and sharp, and it was not long before the two got quite a number of grouse and birds of all sorts; and as soon as they had enough for that day and the next, they returned to the wigwam and invited their neighbours to supper with them.

A short time after, the boy was out on the hills wondering where the dog had gone, for, in spite of the red paint, he was to be seen nowhere. At length he stood still and put his ear to the ground and listened with all his might, and that means a great deal, for Indian ears are much cleverer at hearing than European ones. Then he heard a whine which sounded as if it came from a long way off, so he jumped up at once and walked and walked till he reached a small hollow, where he found that the dog had killed one of the mountain sheep.

'Can it really _be_ a dog?' said the boy to himself. 'I don't know; I wish I did. But at any rate, it deserves to be treated like one,' and when the sheep was cooked, the dog--if it was a dog--was given all the fat part.

After this, never a day passed without the boy and the dog bringing home meat, and thanks to them the people began to grow fat again. But if the dog killed many sheep at once, the boy was always careful to give it first the best for itself.

* * * * *

Some weeks later the husband of the boy's sister came to him and said:

'Lend me your dog, it will help me greatly.' So the boy went and brought the dog from the little house he had made for it, and painted its head and its feet, and carried it to his brother-in-law.

'Give it the first thing that is killed as I always do,' observed the boy, but the man answered nothing, only put the dog in his blanket.

Now the brother-in-law was greedy and selfish and wanted to keep everything for himself; so after the dog had killed a whole flock of sheep in the fields, the man threw it a bit of the inside which nobody else would touch, exclaiming rudely:

'Here, take that! It is quite good enough for you.'

But the dog would not touch it either, and ran away to the mountains, yelping loudly.

The man had to bring back all the sheep himself, and it was evening before he reached the village. The first person he saw was the boy who was waiting about for him.

'Where is the dog?' asked he, and the man answered:

'It ran away from me.'

On hearing this the boy put no more questions, but he called his sister and said to her:

'Tell me the truth. What did your husband do to the dog? I did not want to let it go, because I guessed what would happen.'

And the wife answered:

'He threw the inside of a sheep to it, and that is why it ran off.'

When the boy heard this, he felt very sad, and turned to go into the mountains in search of the dog. After walking some time he found the marks of its paws, and smears of red paint on the grass. But all this time the boy never knew that the dog was really the son of the Wolf Chief and had been sent by his father to help him, and he did not guess that from the day that he painted red paint round its face and on its feet a wolf can be told far off by the red on its paws and round its mouth.

The marks led a long, long way, and at length they brought him to a lake, with a town on the opposite side of it, where people seemed to be playing some game, as the noise that they made reached all the way across.

'I must try if I can get over there,' he said, and as he spoke, he noticed a column of smoke coming right up from the ground under his feet, and a door flew open.

'Enter!' cried a voice, so he entered, and discovered that the voice belonged to an old woman, who was called 'Woman-always-wondering.'

'Grandchild, why are you here?' she asked, and he answered:

'I found a young dog who helped me to get food for the people, but it is lost and I am seeking it.'

'Its people live right across there,' replied the woman. 'It is the Wolf Chief's son, and that is his father's town where the noise comes from.'

'How can I get over the lake?' he said to himself, but the old woman guessed what he was thinking and replied:

'My little canoe is just below here.'

'It might turn over with me,' he thought, and again she answered him:

'Take it down to the shore and shake it before you get in, and it will soon become large. Then stretch yourself in the bottom, and, instead of paddling, wish with all your might to reach the town.'

The boy did as he was told, and by and bye he arrived on the other side of the lake. He shook the canoe a second time, and it shrunk into a mere toy-boat which he put in his pocket, and after that he went and watched some boys who were playing with a thing that was like a rainbow.

'Where is the chief's house?' he asked when he was tired of looking at their game.

'At the other end of the village,' they said, and he walked on till he reached a place where a large fire was burning, with people sitting round it. The chief was there too, and the boy saw his little wolf playing about near his father.

'There is a man here,' exclaimed the Wolf Chief. 'Vanish all of you!' and the wolf-people vanished instantly, all but the little wolf, who ran up to the boy and smelt him and knew him at once. As soon as the Wolf Chief beheld that, he said:

'I am your friend; fear nothing. I sent my son to help you because you were starving, and I am glad you have come in quest of him.' But after a pause, he added:

'Still, I do not think I will let him go back with you; but I will aid you in some other way,' and the boy did not guess that the reason the chief was so pleased to see him was because he had painted the little wolf. Yet, as he glanced at the little beast again, he observed with surprise that it did not look like a wolf any longer, but like a human being.

'Take out the fish-hawk's quill that is hanging on the wall, and if you should meet a bear point the quill straight at it, and it will fly out of your hand. I will also give you this,' and he opened a box and lifted out a second quill stuck in a blanket. 'If you lay this side on a sick person, it will cure him; and if you lay the other side on your enemy, it will kill him. Thus you can grow rich by healing sick people.'

So the boy and the Wolf Chief made friends, and they talked together a long time, and the boy put many questions about things he had seen in the town, which puzzled him.

'What was the toy the children were playing with?' he asked at last.

'That toy belongs to me,' answered the chief. 'If it appears to you in the evening it means bad weather, and if it appears in the morning it means fine weather. Then we know that we can go out on the lake. It is a good toy.'

'But,' continued he, 'you must depart now, and, before you leave eat this, for you have a long journey to make and you will need strength for it;' and he dropped something into the boy's mouth.

And the boy did not guess that he had been absent for two years, and thought it was only two nights.

* * * * *

Then he journeyed back to his own town, not a boy any more, but a man. Near the first house he met a bear and he held the quill straight towards it. Away it flew and hit the bear right in the heart; so there was good meat for hungry people. Further on, he passed a flock of sheep, and the quill slew them all and he drew it out from the heart of the last one. He cooked part of a sheep for himself and hid the rest where he knew he could find them. After that he entered the town.

It seemed strangely quiet. What had become of all his friends and of the children whom he had left behind him when he left to seek for his dog? He opened the door of a hut and peeped in: three or four bodies were stretched on the floor, their bones showing through their skin, dead of starvation; for after the boy had gone to the mountains there was no one to bring them food. He opened another door, and another and another; everywhere it was the same story. Then he remembered the gift of the Wolf Chief, and he drew the quill out of his blanket and laid one side of it against their bodies, so that they all came to life again, and once more the town was full of noise and gaiety.

'Now come and hunt with me,' he said; but he did not show them his quill lest he should lose it as he had lost the dog. And when they beheld a flock of mountain sheep grazing, he let fly the quill so quickly that nobody saw it go, neither did they see him pull out the quill and hide it in his blanket. After that they made a fire and all sat down to dine, and those who were not his friends gave him payment for the meat.

For the rest of his life the man journeyed from place to place, curing the sick and receiving payment from their kinsfolk. But those who had been dead for many years took a long while to get well, and their eyes were always set deep back in their heads, and had a look as if they had seen something.

[_Tlingit Myths._]

_BLIND JACK OF KNARESBOROUGH_

This is the story of a blind man who did more, without any eyes at all, than many people can do with two. For numbers of children need really to be _taught_ to use their eyes, or they will never see things that are right under their noses; or else they will only see exactly what they are looking for, and nothing besides.

Blind Jack's proper name was John Metcalfe, and he was born in the town of Knaresborough in Yorkshire, in 1717. His parents seem to have been comfortably off--small farmers perhaps, as we are told that Jack learned to ride on his father's horses; and at four years old he was sent to school, exactly as a child of working people would be now. The boy was very quick and had a good memory and his teachers were proud of him, and prophesied that he would be a great scholar, and who knew if some day he might not be Lord Chancellor, or even Archbishop of Canterbury? The Metcalfes quite agreed that nothing was more likely; but a sudden end was put to these dreams when one morning Jack woke with a rash all over his face and chest, and the doctor declared he had got small-pox.

Now in those times, before babies were vaccinated, small-pox was a most terrible disease and very few lived through it without being marked in one way or another. Jack was very ill, but he does not appear to have been pitted like some of the other children who suffered from it, and only his mother observed that when the crisis was over and the boy was getting better every day, and beginning to chatter again, he did not, as was usual with him, make remarks on the things he saw around him or out of the window. Then a dreadful fear shot through her heart. Could it be that he was blind? With great difficulty she controlled her voice and answered the child's questions, but with every hour she understood more clearly that what she dreaded had indeed come to pass. By and bye Jack himself wondered why the curtains always seemed to be drawn in his room and asked his mother to pull them back. She invariably had some good excuse for his remaining in the dark, and little by little the truth dawned on him also. We cannot guess at the poor boy's horror at his fate, nor at his struggles to behave like a man, but as he grew gradually accustomed to his darkness and became stronger, he made up his mind, as other blind people have done, that if he was so unlucky as to have lost his eyes, he would learn to get on just as well without them.

* * * * *

The bare idea of all he would do was exciting. As Jack sat by the fire in the kitchen or lay curled up in the window-seat listening to the horses which went by, he began to make his plans for the future. How fortunate it was that he was able to ride already!--why, most of the boys at school, who were not blind at all, had never been across a horse's back, far less galloped at full speed up and down the street as Jack had loved to do! So he, blind though he was, could do something which they could not, and had the start of them! Now that he could walk about the room without falling down from weakness he must lose no more time, but try and learn the positions of the chairs and tables and count exactly how many steps there were on the staircase, so that he might soon run up and down them as fast as he did before. The next thing was to trust himself in the street, and find his way about. He was rather shy at first, and felt a little bewildered, but he would not go home till he had gone as far as the baker's shop--up and down, up and down, several times over.

'Well, I can go _there_ all right, if mother sends me,' he said to himself, and walked home in triumph to tell his parents.

Having once made a beginning, Jack never let a day pass without learning to do something fresh, till by the time he was nine he could carry messages to any part of Knaresborough as well as another boy. He had a good many friends of his own age, and with them he would go on expeditions into the woods near the town, and even climb trees after birds' eggs. Very quickly the boys discovered that Jack was a better climber than any of them. He was so light, and then he could tell by his sense of touch if a branch was rotten, or whether he might trust himself upon it, and it was not long before it was Jack who was always sent to the top of the tree while the rest remained at the bottom. His mother suffered agonies of fear at first during these hours that the boy was away, but she knew it was no use trying to hinder him, and after a while she ceased to trouble, as Jack never came to harm, and she had too much to do in looking after the younger children to worry about him. It was impossible to keep Jack in the house; if he was not in a tree, he was on the back of a horse or exercising a couple of young hounds that his father had given him; but when, about thirteen, he showed a liking for music, she had him properly taught, in the hope of inducing him to stay at home in the winter evenings.

It was in the summer after this that Blind Jack made friends with some bad boys, whose chief delight consisted of robbing cherry orchards; not so much, if the truth be told, for the sake of the cherries, as for the pleasure of doing what they ought not. One hot night Jack stole quietly to the window of the room which he shared with his little brothers, and swinging himself down through the branches of a tree as lightly as a cat, was over the garden wall in a moment and in the street. Once there he ran quickly to the porch of the parish church, reaching it as the clock struck twelve, and just as the rest of the band, who were waiting for him there, had almost given him up. They set off silently to the orchard and soon had gathered a large basket of ripe cherries, which had been intended by the farmer's wife for the Knaresborough market next day. Enchanted with their booty, the young thieves hurried back in order to eat the cherries comfortably and warmly inside the church. They were in the highest spirits and felt that after their success they were capable of capturing a fort or holding an army at bay. So seizing the big iron ring on the church door which lifted the latch, one of the leaders exclaimed loudly:

'A tankard of ale here!' as if he was entering a tavern. Of course he meant nothing, but from within a voice answered:

'You are at the wrong house.' This so startled the boys that they were struck dumb, hardly believing their ears, till Metcalfe whispered softly:

'Didn't you hear something speak in the church?' This put their own fears into words, and, as one boy, they all turned and fled. When they had put a long distance between themselves and the churchyard they stopped, feeling quite brave again, and began to discuss the matter and what the voice could have been; but as none of their guesses satisfied them, they determined to go back and try to find out for themselves.

As soon as they were again in the churchyard path, they saw bright lights in the church and at once fancied it was on fire. This idea was delightful to them, as they foresaw all kinds of fun in helping to put it out. But before they even had time to open the west door in the porch, they heard once more the latch being lifted from the inside. All their old terror returned, and they rushed home as fast as they could, the sexton's son even jumping into his mother's bed for protection.

The laugh against him was loudest of all next day, when it was discovered that the supposed fire was only some candles lit by the sexton himself, who was in the church with the grave-digger, opening a vault for a funeral which was to take place early in the morning; and the voice which had so frightened the boys was that of the grave-digger. For some time the young thieves were jeered at by the whole town, and grew to hate the very sight of a cherry, so the adventure had one good result, for they let the orchards alone.

Metcalfe now had to amuse himself in some other way, and as many of his friends used to meet every evening in order to bathe in the pools of the river Nidd, he would not be left behind, and persuaded one of them to teach him to swim and dive. Of course, all those things would have been impossible if he had been the least nervous or frightened, but Blind Jack did not know what fear was of any earthly thing. At least he had thought at the time that the voice and the lights in the church were ghostly, and _anybody_ might be afraid of ghostly manifestations. But with the air and the shouts of other boys about him, he was as brave as a lion, and soon could swim farther and dive deeper than any of them.

The Nidd is one of those rivers which easily rise and fall, and it is full of 'holes,' as they are called, where the water swirls and eddies, and whatever is swept over them by the current always stops for a moment and then slowly sinks. In some strange way which was never explained by him, Jack contrived to reach these holes without being drawn into the eddies, and it quickly became a regular trade with him to rescue with the aid of a hooked stick anything which had sunk in the pool. In this way he drew up several pieces of valuable wood, a quantity of wool swept into the river by a sudden flood, and even the body of a drowned man.

* * * * *

Jack was now about fifteen and was famous throughout Knaresborough, which had grown quite proud of him. He had continued to practise his violin, and everybody declared that never were country-dances danced with such spirit as when Jack was the fiddler. So very speedily he got an engagement as one of a band of four musicians to appear at the Assembly Rooms once a fortnight, where a ball was given, and was invited besides to many other places round about. In this very year too, 1732, he was offered the post of fiddler at Harrogate, for the old man who had held it for seventy years, and was now a hundred, could no longer play briskly enough to please the young people. Jack's only assistant was a boy younger than himself, whom he took about everywhere. Perhaps they both rode pillion--that is, one behind the other; for Jack had saved up his earnings and bought a horse, of which he was very fond. On its back he was to be seen at Ripon or Boroughbridge or many other towns, and when people were tired of giving balls, Metcalfe would run his horse at the small races, of which there are so many in Yorkshire. Here he met with some of the gentlemen who lived in the neighbourhood, and as they all admired the cleverness and courage with which he had triumphed over his blindness, and found him besides an amusing companion, they made friends with him and sometimes invited him to stay in their houses and hunt with them. To Mr. Barlow, of Middleton near York, he once paid a visit of six months, and while there became acquainted with a celebrated musician called Hebdin, who begged him to come and see him, so that they might practise together. Jack accepted the kind offer gladly, and when no hunting was to be had he went to York, and would play for hours in the old house near the walls.

He had been there one day at the end of his visit to Mr. Barlow, trying over a new piece of music before going home to his parents at Knaresborough, which was a long ride even for him. By this time he could find his way through all the principal streets, and as he was passing the George Inn, the landlord ran out and told him that a gentleman was dining there who wanted to reach Harrogate that night, but that as he was a stranger he must have a guide.

'You can be as good a guide as anybody,' added the man, 'if you are going that way.'

'Yes, I can,' answered Metcalfe; 'but you mustn't tell him I am blind, or he won't believe it.'

'Oh! I'll take care,' replied the landlord. 'Wait here! he will be out in a minute,' and the stranger was only too thankful to start at once, for it was getting late. He insisted, however, that Jack should be given a cup of wine before they set forth, as the landlord had made some excuse for his refusal to enter the inn.

The gentleman and his guide were passing the corner of Ousegate, when Jack was startled at hearing a shout of 'There goes Squire Barlow's Blind Huntsman,' but he perceived from the manner in which his companion continued the conversation that if the words had reached his ears, they had no meaning for him. They rode steadily on for some distance, Metcalfe carefully placing himself a little in front, so that the gentleman should only see part of his face when he turned to answer his questions. Once or twice he had some fears as to whether he was taking the right road or not, but by long practice he had so sharpened his other senses that the slightest sign was sufficient for him. He could tell by the feeling of the wind or the echo of the horses' hoofs if they were in the open country, or if a wall ran along one side of the road, and he could detect at once the presence of water. All through that long ride he only made one mistake and that his companion never guessed. He bent down to open the gate, but as it was seven months since he had passed that way he approached it at the wrong side, which he perceived instantly when his hand touched the hinges. However, he did not lose his presence of mind, and quickly backed his horse, exclaiming as he did so:

'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. L90,000 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.