Transcriber’s Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
[Illustration: JOHN METCALF AGED 78.
_Drawn by J.R. Smith._
_Published as the Act directs Augᵗ. 31. 1795 by E & R Peck, York._]
THE
LIFE
OF
JOHN METCALF,
COMMONLY CALLED
_Blind Jack of Knaresborough_.
WITH,
Many Entertaining ANECDOTES of his EXPLOITS in
_Hunting_, _Card-Playing_, _&c._
Some PARTICULARS relative to the
Expedition against the REBELS in 1745,
_IN WHICH HE BORE A PERSONAL SHARE_;
AND ALSO
A Succinct ACCOUNT of his various CONTRACTS for
Making ROADS, Erecting BRIDGES,
AND OTHER UNDERTAKINGS,
IN
_Yorkshire_, _Lancashire_, _Derbyshire_,
_and Cheshire_;
Which, for a Series of Years, have brought him into
PUBLIC NOTICE, as a most
_EXTRAORDINARY CHARACTER_.
EMBELLISHED WITH
A STRIKING HALF-LENGTH PORTRAIT.
YORK:
PRINTED AND SOLD BY E. AND R. PECK.
1795.
[_Entered at Stationers’ Hall._]
ADVERTISEMENT.
To a generous public little apology will be necessary for offering to
their patronage the Story of an Individual, who, under circumstances the
most depressing in their nature, has been, for a considerable part of a
long life, their assiduous and useful servant.
The Blind, in all ages and countries, have engaged, in a peculiar
degree, the sympathy of mankind;—and, where original poverty has
been annexed to their misfortune, it has been esteemed the utmost
exertion in their favour, to enable them to minister to the amusement
of society, as the only means for keeping them independent of it: To
this general rule, however, a surprising exception is here shewn; and
it is fortunate for the credibility of this little piece, that it is
given to the world during the life-time not only of its HERO, but of
many others who were witnesses of the various extraordinary _facts_ it
contains.
It is fit, however, to notice the disadvantages under which it now
makes its appearance;—and which, from circumstances, were unavoidable:
The person whose task it was to render it, in some degree, fit for the
press, had much difficulty to encounter in arranging the dates, scarce
any attention having been paid to chronological order; and the various
anecdotes having been set down, as the recollection of them arose in
the mind of the narrator, by an amanuensis wholly unqualified for the
purpose, and given in a language intelligible to those only who are
well acquainted with the Yorkshire dialect.—To those inaccuracies
was added, a literal _disrespect of persons_; the first and third
being indiscriminately used throughout. To avoid constantly-recurring
egotisms, the preference is here given to the third person; though it
is feared even that will be found too often in the proper name, where
it might have been, in many instances, supplied by the pronoun.—But
a long absence having necessarily suspended the attention of the
Editor, and the desire for publication before the close of the
Harrogate season being urgent, he is not allowed time to correct
his own errors. For the same reason, the part containing an account
of the share which Metcalf bore under the late Colonel Thornton, in
his expedition against the rebels; his various undertakings as a
road-maker, &c. have received little other correction than what could
be given by interlineation. Throughout, however, not the least violence
is done to the facts; to insure the purity of which, the M. S. has been
read over to Metcalf himself, and corrected by his desire, wherever any
little accidental error has appeared.
Though it was absolutely necessary to bring the style into something
like grammatical order, and to purge it of barbarisms, yet pains have
been taken to preserve its simplicity; and in some instances, where a
few sentences of dialogue are introduced, the original words remain.
Imperfect as it is, a hope is nevertheless entertained that it will
prove amusing; and happy shall the Author of its Apology be, if the
profits arising from the sale shall prove of sufficient value to smooth
the decline of a life, which, though marked by eccentricity, has not
been spent in vain.
THE
LIFE
OF
_JOHN METCALF_.
John Metcalf was born at Knaresborough, on the 15th of August, 1717.
When four years old, he was put to school by his parents, who were
working people, and continued at school two years: He was then seized
with the small-pox, which rendered him totally blind, though all
possible means were used to preserve his sight.
About six months after recovering from the small-pox, he was able to go
from his father’s house to the end of the street, and return, without
a guide; which gave him much spirit and satisfaction.—In the space
of three years he was able to find his way to any part of the town of
Knaresborough; and had begun to associate with boys of his own age,
going with them to seek birds’ nests, and for his share of the eggs and
young birds he was to climb the trees, whilst his comrades waited at
the bottom, to direct him to the nests, and to receive what he should
throw down; and from this he was soon able to climb any tree he was
able to grasp. He would now ramble into the lanes and fields alone,
to the distance of two or three miles, and return. His father keeping
horses, he learned to ride, and in time became an able horseman, a
gallop being his favourite pace. His parents having other children,
at the age of thirteen had John taught music, at which he proved very
expert; though he had conceived more taste for the cry of a hound or a
harrier, than the sound of any instrument.
A gentleman at Knaresborough, of the name of Woodburn, was master
of a pack of hounds:—This gentleman encouraged Metcalf very much,
by taking him to hunt with him, and was always very desirous of his
company. Metcalf kept a couple of very good hounds of his own.
Mr. Woodburn’s hounds being seldom kennelled, Metcalf used to take
several of them out secretly along with his own, about ten or eleven
o’clock at night, (the hares being then feeding); but one of the
young hounds happening to worry a couple of lambs, it caused him to
discontinue that practise.
When about fourteen years old, his activity of limbs, and the good
success with which his exploits were usually attended, consoled him so
greatly for the deprivation of sight, that he was lead to imagine it
was in his power to undertake any thing, without danger: the following
adventure, however, caused him to alter his opinion of its value.
There happened to be a plumb-tree a little way from Knaresborough,
where there had been a house formerly.—One Sunday, Metcalf and his
companions (who were skilled in matters of this sort) would go there,
to get some of the fruit; in these cases, Metcalf was always appointed
to ascend, for the purpose of shaking the trees. He was accordingly
sent up to his post; but in the height of the business, his companions
gathering below were suddenly alarmed by the appearance of the owner of
the tree, and prepared to quit the ground with all expedition:—Metcalf
thus left to himself, soon understood how matters were going, though
the wind was high, which prevented him from hearing distinctly; and
being inclined to follow his comrades, in making his retreat he fell
headlong into a gravel-pit belonging to Sir Harry Singsby, and cut a
large gash in his face, without, however, receiving any other injury
than a stun which for some time hindered his breathing, and kept him
motionless on the ground.—His father being rather severe, Metcalf
was afraid to go home, lest his wound should lead to a discovery of the
prank he had been engaged in.
Soon after this, (though not easily dismayed) he and some other boys
were completely alarmed:—The church-porch at Knaresborough being the
usual place of their meeting, they one night between eleven and twelve
o’clock assembled there; Metcalf being generally the chief projector
of their plans: They determined to rob an orchard; which having done,
they returned to the church-porch to divide their booty. Before their
return, a circumstance had happened to which they were strangers, but
to the discovery of which the following little incident led, though
not immediately: There being a large ring to the church-door, which
turned for the purpose of lifting the latch, one of the party took hold
of it, and, by of bravado, gave a loud rap; calling out, “_A tankard
of ale here!_” A voice from within answered, very loudly, “_You are
at the wrong house._” This so stupified the whole covey, that none of
them could move for some time. At length, Metcalf said, “Did you not
hear something speak in the church?” Upon this, they all took to their
heels, and ran till they got out of the church-yard, Metcalf running
as fast as any of them. They now held a consultation on the subject
of their fright, all equally wondering at the voice, and none able to
account satisfactorily for it—One supposed that it might have been
some brother wag, who had put his mouth to the key-hole of the North
door; but to this it was objected, that the reply was too distinct and
too ready to have come in that way. At length, however, their spirits
being a little raised, they ventured again down the flagged pavement
into the church-yard; but when they came opposite to the church, they
perceived a light, so great as inclined them to believe that the
church was on fire. They now re-entered the church-porch, and were
nearly determined to call the parson; when somebody within lifting the
latch and making a great noise, they again dispersed, terrified and
speechless. One of the party, (whose name was Clemishaw) a son of the
sexton, ran home, and in a desperate fright got into bed with his
mother; all the rest, at the same time, making the best of their way.
The cause of this panic was as follows:—An old lady, wife of Dr.
Talbot, (who had for many years enjoyed the living of Spofforth) dying,
and her relations, who lived at a great distance, being desirous to
arrive before her interment, ordered the body to be kept; this being
too long the case, and the neighbours perceiving a disagreeable smell,
a request was sent to the Rev. Mr. Collins, who ordered the sexton to
be called up to dig the grave in the church immediately: the sexton had
lighted a great number of candles: so much for the supposition of the
church being on fire; and the grave-digger was the person whose voice
had so terrified the apple-merchants, when they knocked. Such, however,
was the impression, that pranks of this nature were not repeated.
About the year 1731, Metcalf being then fourteen years of age, a number
of men and boys made a practice of swimming in the river Nidd, where
there are many deeps convenient for that purpose.—Metcalf resolving to
learn that art, joined the party, and became so very expert, that his
companions did not chuse to come near him in the water, it being his
custom to seize them, send them to the bottom, and swim over them by
way of diversion.
About this time, a soldier and another man were drowned in the above
deeps: the former, it was supposed, was taken with the cramp; the
latter could not swim. Metcalf was sent for to get up the bodies, and
at the fourth time of diving succeeded in bringing up that of the
soldier, which, when raised to the surface, other swimmers carried on
shore; but life had quite left it. The other body could not then be
found.
There are very frequent floods in the river Nidd; and it is a
remarkable fact, that in the deep places, there are eddies, or
some other causes of attraction, which will draw to the bottom any
substance, however light, which comes within their sphere of action.
Large pieces of timber were often seen to be carried down by the
floods; these, on coming over the deep places, were stopped for the
space of a moment, and then sunk. Upon these occasions, Metcalf would
go down and with the greatest ease fix ropes to the wood, which was
drawn up by some persons purposely stationed on the banks.
In the year 1732, one John Barker kept an inn at the West end of the
High Bridge, Knaresborough. This man was a manufacturer of linen cloth,
and used to bleach his own yarn. At one time, having brought two packs
of yarn to the river to wash, he thought he observed a number of
wool-packs rolling towards him; but on a nearer view it proved to be a
swelling of the current, occasioned by a sudden and very violent rain
in the neighbourhood. He had not time to remove his yarn, so that it
was swept away, and carried through the arches of the bridge, which
stands on a rock. A little below there is a piece of still water,
supposed to be about twenty-one feet in depth: as soon as the yarn
got to this, it sunk, except a little which caught the skirts of the
rock in going down. Metcalf being intimate with Barker, and calling at
his house a few days after the accident, found him lamenting his lost.
Metcalf told him that he hoped to recover his yarn for him, but Barker
smiled at the supposed absurdity of the proposal: finding, however,
that his friend was resolved on a trial, he consented. Metcalf then
ordered some long cart-ropes to be procured, and fixing a hook at one
end, and leaving the other to be held by some persons on the High
Bridge, he descended, and hooking as much of the yarn as he could at
one time, he gave orders for drawing up. In this way the whole was
recovered, with very little damage.
Some time after this, Metcalf happened to be at Scriven, at the house
of one Green, an innkeeper.—Two persons then present had a dispute
concerning some sheep which one of them had put into the penfold. The
owner of the sheep, (one Robert Scaif, a Knaresborough man, and a
friend of Metcalf’s) appeared to be ill treated by the other party,
who wished to take an unfair advantage. Metcalf perceiving that they
were not likely to agree about the damages, bade them good night,
saying he was going to Knaresborough, but it being about the dead time
of night, he was firmly resolved to do a little friendly business
before he should get home. The penfold being walled round, he climbed
over, and getting hold of the sheep one by one, he fairly tossed them
over the wall: the difficulty of the service increased as the number
got less, not being so ready to catch;—he was not, however, thereby
deterred, but fully completed the exploit.
On the return of day, the penfold door being found fast locked, great
was the surprise on finding it untenanted, and various the conjectures
as to the rogue or rogues who had liberated the sheep; but Metcalf past
unsuspected, and enjoyed the joke in silence.
He continued to practice on the violin, until he became able to play
country dances. At Knaresborough, during the winter season, there was
an assembly every fortnight, at which he always attended, and went
besides to many other places where there was public dancing; yet,
though much employed in this way, he still retained his fondness for
hunting, and likewise began to keep game cocks. Whenever he went to a
cock-pit, it was his custom to place himself on the lowest seat, and
always close to some friend who was a good judge, and who, by certain
motions, enabled him to bet, hedge, &c. If at any time he heard of a
better game cock than his own, he was sure to get him by some means or
other, though at a hundred miles distance.
A little way from home he had a cock-walk, and at the next house there
chanced to be another. The owner of the cock at the latter house
supposing that Metcalf’s and his would meet, armed his own cock with
a steel spur; which greatly displeasing Metcalf, he formed a plan of
revenge; and getting one of his comrades to assist, they procured a
quantity of cabbage-leaves, and fastening them together with skewers,
they fixed them against the outside of the windows, that the family
might not perceive the return of day-light; and that they should also
be prisoners, their associates in roguery walled up the door with
stones, and mud-mortar, which they were assisted in making by the
convenience of a pump which stood near. They then brought water, in
tubs, and continued pouring it in great quantities over the new wall,
(which did not reach quite up to the top of the door-frame) until the
house was flooded to a great depth. This done, they made the best of
their way home.
In the morning, the people of the house finding their situation, and
being at no loss to suppose who had been the projector, and in all
probability the leading performer, of the business, were no sooner set
at liberty, than they went to a Justice, and got a warrant for Metcalf;
but not being able to prove the fact, he was, of course, dismissed.
His fame now began to spread; and when any arch trick was done,
inquiry was sure to be made where Metcalf had been at the time.
At Bilton, two miles from Knaresborough, there was a rookery, and the
boys had made many attempts to take the young ones; but the owner
wishing to preserve them, they were prevented. Metcalf determining to
make a trial, sent one of his comrades in the day-time as a spy to
reconnoitre the position of the nests; and having been informed by
him as to this, they set out in the dead of night, and brought away
seven dozen and a half, excepting the _heads_, which they left under
the trees. The owner of the rooks finding the heads, sent the bellman
round, offering a reward of two guineas for discovering the offenders:
the secret, however, was kept until long afterwards.
A man at Knaresborough having married a woman who had lived at a
farm-house about a mile distant, brought his wife to his own home; and
some articles being left in the deserted house, he sent a son he had
by a former marriage to bring them away.—Metcalf being about the
same age as this boy, chose to accompany him. When they got to the
place, the boy missed the key, which he had lost from his pocket by
the way; and being afraid to return without his errand, he consulted
Metcalf about what was to be done. Metcalf was for entering the house
at all events; and not being able to procure a ladder, got a pole,
which reached to the thatch, and having borrowed a rope and a stick,
he climbed up the pole, and then ascending by the roof to the chimney,
he placed the stick across, and fastening the rope to it, attempted to
descend, but finding the flew too narrow, he threw off his cloaths,
and laying them on the ridge of the house, made a second attempt, and
succeeded: he then opened the door for his companion. While they were
in the house, there was a heavy thunder-shower, to which Metcalf’s
cloathes were exposed, being left upon the house-top: he attempted to
get up again, to fetch them; but the pole by which he had ascended was
now so wet, that he could not climb by it; he was therefore obliged to
wait until it dried, when ascending again, he recovered his cloathes.
This was considered by all who heard of it as a very extraordinary
performance by one in his situation, as well as a great act of
friendship to his companion.
In the year 1732 Metcalf was invited to Harrogate, to succeed, as
fidler, a poor old man who had played there for 70 years, and who,
being borne down by the weight of 100 years, began to play too slow
for country dancing. Metcalf was well received by the nobility and
gentry, who employed no other fidler, except a boy whom he hired as an
assistant, when they began to build a long-room at the Queen’s Head.
Being once, with his assistant, at Ripon assembly, they resolved to
call the next day at Newby Hall, the seat of ’Squire Blacket; having
got acquainted with that worthy family by their frequent visits to
Harrogate. There they stayed, regaling themselves, till near night,
when they set out for home. In the way, they had to cross the river
Ure by a ford, or go round by Boroughbridge or Ripon, which latter
Metcalf was not inclined to do. They were told that the ford would
be found impassable, much rain having fallen. Metcalf, however, was
determined to try; but on coming to the water-side, he found his
companion was much in liquor, and began to doubt of _his_ getting
over: as for himself, he had no fear, being a good swimmer.—So it was
agreed that Metcalf should strip, and (leaving his cloathes to the care
of his friend) lead his horse over, and thereby prove whether or not
it was safe for his comrade to follow. By this means they got over,
but not before it was dark. He then began to dress himself, but his
waistcoat (in which were the three joints of his hautboy) was missing,
as also his silver shoe-buckles, and seventeen shillings which fell
from his pocket. This was an unpleasant accident, but there being no
present remedy, they made the best of their way to Copgrove, where they
rested. Metcalf listened diligently to the clock, and after some hours,
supposing the waters to have abated, (which was the case,) he returned,
and found his seventeen shillings on the bank, and a buckle on each
side of the water. The waistcoat and hautboy he could never recover,
although he carefully drew the deeps with a gardener’s iron rake, which
he had procured for that purpose at Newby Hall.
Metcalf now bought a horse, and often ran him for small plates. He
still continued to be a cocker—often hunted—and sometimes went a
coursing; in the evenings he attended to play at the assemblies:
finding, from these various pursuits, pretty sufficient employment.
Being greatly encouraged by the gentlemen, he began to think himself of
that class, excepting that his _rents_ failed to come in half-yearly
from his tenants.
About this time there was a long-room built at the Green-Dragon at
Harrogate. More music being then wanted, he engaged one Midgeley (one
of the Leeds waits) and his son, as assistants. Midgeley, sen. being
a good performer, was taken into partnership gratis; but the son, and
Metcalf’s former assistant, paid five pounds each premium. This was
done with the approbation of all the innkeepers, who wished to keep
Metcalf at the head of the band.
In the year 1735, Francis Barlow, Esq. of Middlethorp, near York, who
kept a pack of beagles, was at Harrogate, and liking Metcalf, gave him
an invitation to spend the winter at Middlethorp, desiring him to bring
his horse: the invitation was gladly accepted, and he went out with Mr.
Barlow’s hounds twice a week, highly gratified in the enjoyment of his
favourite sport. While at Middlethorp, he was invited by Mr. Hebdin,
an eminent musician, of York, to come to his house, and play, offering
him, gratis, any service or instruction in his power: this kind offer
Metcalf readily accepted, and went to practice music on those days when
there was no hunting.
He had now completed a visit of six months to the worthy ’Squire of
Middlethorpe;—and the hunting season being almost over, he proposed
to his patron to take a farewell hunt in the forenoon, intending
to proceed to Knaresborough in the evening.—He accordingly set
out with the hounds in the morning; returned with the ’Squire at
noon; got himself and his horse well fed and _watered_, and then
proceeded to York, to take leave of Mr. Hebdin, previous to his going
home. He had learned to walk and ride very readily through most of
the streets of York; and as he was riding past the George Inn, in
Coneystreet, Standish, the landlord, stopped him, calling out “What
haste?” Metcalf told him he was for Knaresborough that night—The
landlord replied, that there was a gentleman in the house who wanted
a guide to Harrogate; adding, “I know you can do that as well as any
one.”—“So I can,” said he, “but you must not let him know that I
am blind, for perhaps he will be afraid to trust me.”—“_I_ shall
manage that,” replied Standish; so going in, he informed the gentleman
that he had procured him a safe guide. Pleased at this, the gentleman
requested that Metcalf would come in and take a bottle: this (for an
obvious reason) the landlord objected to on the part of Metcalf, but
recommended some wine at the door; during the drinking of which, the
stranger got ready, and they set off, Metcalf taking the lead. As they
were turning Ousegate corner, a voice halloed out “_’Squire Barlow’s
Blind Huntsman!_” but the gentleman not knowing the meaning of this,
they rode briskly up Micklegate, through the Bar, turned the corner
to Holgate, and through Poppleton Field on to Hessay Moor, and so
proceeded forward, going over Skip-Bridge. (At this time the turnpike
was not made between York and Harrogate.)
On the North-West end of Kirk-Hammerton Moor, the road to Knaresborough
joined the main road which leads to Boroughbridge by a sudden turn
to the left; but Metcalf cleared that without any difficulty. When
they came to Allerton-Mauleverer, the stranger asked whose large house
that was on the right; and was immediately informed by Metcalf. A
little farther on, the road is crossed by the one from Wetherby to
Boroughbridge, and proceeds along by the high brick wall of Allerton
Park. There was a road leading out of the Park, opposite to the gate
upon the Knaresborough road, which Metcalf was afraid of missing; but
the wind being from the East, and he perceiving a blast coming through
the Park-gate, he readily turned his horse to the opposite gate which
leads to Knaresborough. Reaching out his hand to open it, he felt the
heel, as it is called; and, backing his horse, exclaimed “Confound
thee! thou always goes to the gate heel, instead of the head.” The
gentleman observed to him that his horse seemed aukward, and that his
own mare was good at coming up to a gate; whereupon Metcalf permitted
him to perform this office. Darkness (which had now come on) being no
obstruction to him, he briskly led the way, resolved that his companion
should not again see his face till they got to Harrogate. As they were
going through Knaresborough, the gentleman proposed a glass of wine,
which Metcalf refused, alledging that the horses were hot, and that
being near their journey’s end, it was not worth while to stop:—On
then they went; and presently some one cried out “_That’s Blind
Jack!_”—This assertion, however, was contradicted by another person
who could not clearly identify him; and by this means the stranger was
kept in the _dark_ as effectually as his guide. They then proceeded
over the High Bridge, and up the Forest Lane, and then entering the
Forest, they had to pass along a narrow causeway which reached about
one-third of the way to Harrogate. When they had gone a little way upon
the Forest, the gentleman saw a light, and asked what place it was.
There were some rocks upon the Forest called Hookston Craggs, and near
to these the ground was low and swampy in some places, close by which
lays the Leeds road;—about this part were frequently seen at night,
vapours, commonly called Will-o’-the-wisp. Metcalf took it for granted
that his companion had seen one of these, but for good reasons declined
asking him whereabout the light was; and to divert his attention from
this object, asked him, “Do you not see two lights; one to the right,
the other to the left?” “No,” replied the gentleman; “I seen but one
light, that there on the right.”—“Well then, Sir,” said Metcalf, “that
is Harrogate.” There were then many tracks, but Metcalf made choice of
that nearest the fence: by the side of this path, which is very near
Harrogate, some larches were planted; and stepping-stones laid for
the convenience of foot-passengers: Metcalf got upon this stony path,
and the gentleman’s horse following, got one of his hind feet jammed
between two of the stones: when his horse was freed, he asked “Is there
no other road?” “Yes,” replied Metcalf, “there is another, but it is a
mile about:” knowing at the same time that there was a dirty cart-way
just at hand, but to which upon some account he preferred this rugged
path.
Arrived at their journey’s end, they stopped at the house now called
the Granby, but found that the ostler was gone to bed.—Metcalf being
very well acquainted with the place, led both the horses into the
stable, and the ostler soon after appearing, he delivered them to his
care, and went into the house to inquire after his fellow-traveller,
whom he found comfortably seated over a tankard of negus, in which he
pledged his guide; but when Metcalf attempted to take the tankard,
he reached out his hand wide of the mark: however, he soon found it,
and drank; and going out again, left to the landlord the opportunity
of explaining to his companion what he was not yet sensible of.—“I
think, landlord,” said the gentleman, “my guide must have drank a great
deal of spirits since we came here.”—“Why, my good Sir, do you think
so?”—“Well, I judge so from the appearance of his _eyes_.”—“_Eyes!_
bless you, Sir,” rejoined the landlord, “do not you know that he is
BLIND?”—“What do you mean by that?”—“I mean, Sir, that _he cannot
see_.”—“BLIND! Gracious God!!”—“Yes, Sir; as blind as a stone, by
Heaven!”—“Well, landlord,” said the gentleman, “this is too much: call
him in.” Metcalf enters. “My friend, are you really blind?”—“Yes,
Sir; I lost my sight when six years old.”—“Had I known that, I would
not have ventured with you for an hundred pounds.”—“And I, Sir,” said
Metcalf, “would not have lost my way for a thousand.” This conversation
ended, they sat down, and drank plentifully. Metcalf had with him a
case containing a new fiddle which he had just received from London,
and the gentleman observing it, desired him to play: the guide gave
him as much satisfaction in this way, as he had before done in the
character of a conductor; and the services of the evening were rewarded
by a present of two guineas, besides a plentiful entertainment the
next day, at the cost of this gentleman, who looked upon the adventure
with Metcalf as the most extraordinary incident he had ever met with.
1736. The Harrogate season now commencing, Metcalf, of course, resumed
his occupation; and, being of a jocular and comic turn, was so well
received at all the inns, that he obtained free quarters for himself
and horse.
The Green Dragon at that place was then kept by a Mr. Body, who had
two nephews with him; and when the hunting season drew near its close,
these with some other young men expressed a great desire for a day’s
sport; and knowing that Mr. Woodburn, the master of the Knaresborough
pack of hounds, had often lent them to Metcalf for the same purpose,
they doubted not of the success of _his_ application: being, however,
unprovided with hunters, they were obliged to defer the day for near a
fortnight before they could be accommodated.
On the evening before the appointed day, Metcalf went, flushed with
hope, to Mr. Woodburn, requesting him to lend the pack for the next
day. This was a favour out of his power to grant, having engaged to
meet ’Squire Trapps, with the hounds, next morning, upon Scotton Moor,
for the purpose of entering some young fox-hounds.—Chagrined at this,
Metcalf debated with himself whether the disappointment should fall to
Mr. Woodburn’s friends, or his own: determining that it should not be
the lot of the latter, he arose the next morning before day-break, and
crossed the High Bridge near which he had the advantage of the joint
echos of the Old Castle and Belmont Wood. He had brought with him an
extraordinary good hound of his own, and taking him by the ears, made
him give mouth very loudly, himself giving some halloos at the same
time. This device had so good an effect, that in a few minutes he had
nine couple about him, as the hounds were kept by various people about
the shambles, &c. and were suffered to lay unkennelled. Mounting
his horse, away he rode with the dogs to Harrogate, where he met his
friends, ready mounted, and in high spirits. Some of them proposed
going to Bilton Wood; but this was opposed by Metcalf, who preferred
the Moor; in fact, he was apprehensive of being followed by Mr.
Woodburn, and wished to be further from Knaresborough upon that account.
Pursuant to his advice, they drew the Moor, at the distance of five
miles, where they started a hare, killed her after a fine chace, and
immediately put up another:—just at this moment came up Mr. Woodburn,
foaming with anger, swearing most terribly, and threatening to send
Metcalf to the devil, or at least to the house of correction; and, his
passion rising to the utmost, rode up with an intention to horsewhip
him, which Metcalf prevented, by galloping out of his reach.—Mr.
Woodburn then endeavoured to call off the hounds; but Metcalf, knowing
the fleetness of his own horse, ventured within speaking, though not
within _whipping_, distance of him, and begged that he would permit
the dogs to finish the chace, alledging that it would spoil them to
take them off; and that he was sure they would (as they actually did)
kill in a very short time. Metcalf soon found that Mr. Woodburn’s
anger had begun to abate; and going nearer to him, pleaded in excuse
a misunderstanding of his plan, which he said he thought had been
fixed for the day after. The apology succeeded with this good-natured
gentleman, who, giving the hare to Metcalf, desired he would accompany
him to Scotton Moor, whither, though late, he would go, rather than
wholly disappoint Mr. Trapps. The reader, by this time, knows enough of
Metcalf to believe he was not averse to this proposal; so leaving the
hares with his comrades, and engaging to be with them in the evening,
he joined his old associate. The day being advanced, Metcalf objected
to the circuitous way of Harrogate Bridge, proposing to cross the river
Nidd at Holm Bottom; and Mr. Woodburn not being acquainted with the
ford, he again undertook the office of guide, and leading the way,
they soon arrived at Scotton Moor, where Mr. Trapps and his company
had waited for them two hours. Mr. Woodburn explained the cause of the
delay, and, being now able to participate in the joke, the affair ended
very agreeably.
Metcalf stayed with this company until three in the afternoon, and then
set off for Harrogate, crossing the river. He had not tasted food that
day; but when he got to his friends, he found them preparing the brace
of hares, with many other good things, for supper; and after spending
many jovial hours, he played country-dances till day-light.
When the Harrogate season was over, it was Metcalf’s constant custom to
visit at the inns, always spending the evening at one or other of them.
At the Royal Oak (now the Granby) in particular, scenes of mirth were
often going forward; and at these he greatly attracted the notice of
one of the landlord’s daughters.
In the summer he used often to run his horse for the petty plates or
prizes given at the feasts in the neighbourhood; and on all these
occasions, when in her power, she was sure to attend, with her female
friends. By frequent intercourse, the lady and Metcalf became very
intimate; and this intimacy produced mutual regard and confidence.
Her mother being a high-spirited woman, had brought up her daughters,
as she hoped at least, with notions ill suited to the condition of
Metcalf; so that in order to disguise the state of their hearts
from her parents, the lovers agreed on a set of names and phrases,
intelligible to each other, though not so to them. He used to call
himself Mary, or Tibby, (at once changing the sex, and speaking as
if of a third person); and she, Harry, or Dickey, or some such name.
Whenever he sought to intimate to her his intention of visiting her,
he would say, “You must tell Richard that Mary will be here on such
a day.” Her mother would perhaps ask, “Who is that?” To which she
would reply, that it was a young woman who was to meet her brother
there.—But if the day appointed by Metcalf was not convenient, she
would say, that “Richard had called, and had left word that Mary should
call again at such a time;” meaning the time she wished Metcalf to
come.—And as she commonly fastened the doors, when she expected him
she always left a door or a window open.
One night, in particular, Metcalf having, in consequence of an
appointment, arrived there about midnight, and got in by a window that
had been designedly left open; in his way to the _young_ woman’s room,
he met the _old_ one in the middle of the stair-case! Both parties were
much surprised; and the mistress asking angrily “Who’s there?” “What
do you want?” he knowing that she always went to bed early, replied “I
came in late last night, sat down in a chair by the fire-side, and fell
fast asleep.” She then called loudly to her daughter, “Why did you not
shew Jack to bed?” “I was not to sit up all night for him;” replied the
lass. He then pursued his way up stairs, and the girl conducted him to
a bed-room.
In summer he would often play at bowls, making the following conditions
with his antagonist, viz. to receive the odds of a bowl extra for the
deficiency of an eye.—By these terms he had three for the other’s one.
He took care to place a friend and confidant at the jack, and another
about mid-way; and those, keeping up a constant discourse with him,
enabled him, by their voices, to judge of the distance. The degree of
bias he could always ascertain by feeling; and, odd as it may seem, was
very frequently the winner.
Cards, too, began to engage his attention; all of which he could soon
distinguish, unassisted; and many were the persons of rank who, from
curiosity, played with him, he generally winning the majority of the
games.
But the achievements already enumerated were far from bounding either
his ambition or capacity: He now aspired to the acquaintance of
jockies of a higher class than he had hitherto known, and to this end
frequented the races at York and many other places; when he always
found the better kind of persons inclined to lend him their skill in
making his bets, &c. impressed, as they no doubt were, with sympathy
for his situation, and surprize at his odd propensity.
He commonly rode to the race-ground amongst the crowd; and kept in
memory both the winning and losing horses.
Being much in the habit of visiting York in the winter time, a whim
would often take him to call for his horse at bed-time, and set out
for Knaresborough, regardless of the badness of the roads and weather,
and of all remonstrance from his friends; yet the hand of Providence
always conducted him in safety.—It was quite common for him to go from
Skipton, over the Forest Moor, to Knaresborough, alone; but if he had
company, and it was night, he was, of course, the foremost.
About the year 1738, Metcalf having increased his stud, and being aware
of the docility of that noble animal, the horse, so tutored his own,
that whenever he called them by their respective names, they would
immediately answer him by neighing. This was chiefly accomplished by
some discipline at the time of feeding. He could, however, without the
help of those responses, select his own horses out of any number.
Having matched one of his horses, to run three miles, for a wager
of some note, and the parties agreeing to ride each his own, they
set up posts at certain distances, on the Forest, including a circle
of one mile; having, of course, three rounds to go. Great odds were
laid against Metcalf, upon the supposition of his inability to keep
the course. But what did his ingenuity suggest in this dilemma: or,
rather, what did it anticipate? He procured four dinner-bells from the
different inns, with what others he could borrow; and placing a man,
with a bell, at each post, he was enabled, by the ringing, to turn; and
fully availing himself of the superior fleetness of his horse, came in
winner, amidst the plaudits and exultations of the multitude, except
only those who had betted against him.
A gentleman of the name of Skelton then came up, and proposed to
Metcalf a small wager, that he could not gallop a horse of his fifty
yards, and stop him within two hundred. This horse was notorious as
a run-away, and had baffled the efforts of the best and strongest
riders to hold him. Metcalf agreed to the wager, upon condition that
he might choose his ground; but Skelton objected to there being either
hedge or wall in the distance. Metcalf, every ready at any thing that
was likely to produce a joke, agreed; the stakes were deposited; and
knowing that there was a large bog near the Old Spa at Harrogate, he
mounted at about the distance of an hundred and fifty yards from it.
Having observed the wind, and placed a person who was to sing a song,
for the guidance of sound, he set off, at full gallop, for the bog, and
soon fixed the horse saddle-skirt deep in the mire. He then floundered
through the dirt as well as he was able, till he gained a firm footing;
when he demanded his wager, which was allotted him by the general
suffrage. It was with the greatest difficulty, however, that the horse
could be extricated.——That Metcalf was so well acquainted with this
spot, was owing to his having, about three weeks before, relieved a
stranger who had got fast in it in the night, and whose cries had
attracted him.
It was now no unusual thing with him to buy horses, with a view to
sell them again. Happening to meet with a man who had left the place
of huntsman to a pack of subscription hounds kept by Sir John Kaye,
’Squire Hawkesworth, and others, and who had a horse to sell, Metcalf
inquired his price, at the same time requesting permission to ride him
a little way. Having trotted the horse a mile or two, he returned,
telling the owner that the _eyes_ of his nag would soon fail. The man,
however, stood firm to his demand of twenty-five guineas for the horse,
alledging that he was beautifully moulded, only six years old, and his
action good. Metcalf then took the man into the stable, and desired
him to lay his hand upon the eyes of the horse, to feel their uncommon
heat; asking him, at the same time, how he could, in conscience, demand
so great a price for a horse that was going blind. This treaty ended
with Metcalf’s purchasing the horse, bridle, and saddle, for fourteen
pounds.
A few days after, as he was riding on his new purchase, he ran against
a sign-post, upon the Common, near the Toy-Shop, and nearly threw it
down. Not discouraged by this, he set off for Ripon, to play at an
assembly; and passing by a place at Harrogate called the World’s-End,
he overtook a man going the Ripon road.—With him Metcalf laid a wager
of six-pennyworth of liquor, that he would get first to an alehouse at
some small distance. The ground being rough, Metcalf’s horse soon fell,
and lay for a while on the thigh of his master, when, making an effort
to rise, he cut Metcalf’s face with one of his fore shoes. The Rev. Mr.
Richardson coming up at this moment, and expressing his concern for the
accident, Metcalf told him that nothing had hurt him but the cowardice
of his horse, who had _struck him whilst he was down_. His instrument,
however, suffered so materially, that he was obliged to borrow one
to perform on for the night, at Ripon, to which place he got without
further accident. The assembly over, he set off to return to Harrogate,
and arrived there about three in the morning.
He now thought it was time to dispose of his fine horse, whose eyes
began to discharge much. After applying the usual remedies of allum
blown into the eyes, roweling in different parts, &c. he found him in
marketable condition; and knowing that there would soon be a great shew
of horses without Micklegate-Bar, at York, he resolved to take the
chance of that mart; and setting out the night before, put up at the
Swan, in Micklegate. The next morning, when the shew began, Metcalf’s
nag attracted the notice of one Carter, a very extensive dealer, who
asking the price, was told twenty-two guineas. Carter then inquired if
he was sound, and received for answer, “I have never known him _lame_;
but I shall trot him on this pavement, and if there be any ailment of
that kind, it will soon appear, with my weight.” The dealer bade him
sixteen guineas, and a little after, seventeen; which Metcalf, for
well-known reasons, was glad to receive.
Having sold his horse, he set off on foot for Harrogate; but before
he had got to Holgate (about a mile on his way) he was overtaken by a
Knaresborough man, on horseback, who proposed, for two shillings-worth
of punch, to let him ride in turn, dividing the distances equally.
Metcalf thought the man was unreasonable in his demand, but agreed to
it at length; and giving his companion one tankard, he, by consent, got
the first ride, with instructions to the following effect, viz. That
he should ride on till he got a little beyond Poppleton-Field, where
he would _see_ a gate on his right hand, to which he should fasten the
horse, and leaving him for the owner, proceed. Metcalf not _seeing_
the gate, as described, rode on to Knaresborough, which was seventeen
miles from the place where he had left his fellow-traveller. He then
left the horse at the owner’s house, saying that the master having got
into a return-chaise, had desired him to ride the horse home.—— The
owner was greatly enraged at being left to walk so long a way; but,
on Metcalf’s pleading that he never _saw_ the gate, he found it his
interest to join in the laugh.
Being now in the prime of life, and possessing a peculiar archness
of disposition, with an unceasing flow of spirits, and a contempt of
danger, seldom if ever equalled by one in his circumstances, it will
not be wondered at that levities, such as are before recited, should
have employed a considerable portion of his time. The sequel, however,
will, in due course, shew, that he was capable of embarking in, and
bringing to perfection, several schemes, of public as well as private
utility; and this promise to the reader, it is hoped, will insure his
patience, while he is made the companion of the author in a few more of
his frolicsome adventures.
In the year 1738 Metcalf attained the age of twenty-one years, and the
height of six feet one inch and an half, and was remarkably robust
withal.
At that time there lived at Knaresborough one John Bake, a man of
a ferocious temper and athletic figure. He was considered in the
neighbourhood as a champion, or rather bully; and thus qualified, was
often employed _specially_, to serve writs or warrants, in cases where
desperate resistance was expected. Metcalf going one evening, with a
friend, to a public house, they there met this Bake; and a short time
after, Metcalf’s and Bake sat down to cards. The latter took some
money off the table, to which he was not entitled; and the former
remonstrating on the injustice of Bake, received from him a violent
blow. Metcalf interposing with words only at first, was treated in the
same manner; when instantly entering into combat with this ruffian, he
bestowed upon him such discipline as soon extorted a cry for mercy.
To the fame which Metcalf had acquired by various means, was now added
that of a boxer, though he was far from being ambitious of celebrity
in that way. Some little time after, Metcalf was called up at midnight
by this very Bake, who, knowing by experience the prowess and powers
of his late antagonist, had presumed to make a bet of five guineas,
that Metcalf would beat a fellow whose company he had just left.—But
Metcalf gave him to understand, that, although he had store of thumps
for those who should treat him with insolence, he was no prize-fighter;
and having no quarrel with the man in question, he (Bake) might fight
or forfeit as he liked best.
Being desirous of getting a little fish, he once, unassisted, drew a
net of eighty yards length, in the deepest part of the river Wharfe,
for three hours together. At one time he held the lines in his mouth,
being obliged to swim.
The following wager he laid, and won: He engaged with a man at the
Queen’s Head at Harrogate, to go to Knaresborough Cross, and return, in
less time than the other would gather one hundred and twenty stones,
laid at regular distances of a yard each, and, taking one stone at a
time, put them all into a basket placed at one end of the line.
Meeting with some company, amongst whom there was one of a boastful
turn, Metcalf proposed to go against him from Harrogate to
Knaresborough Cross, provided he would take the way which Metcalf
should choose. To this the other agreed, believing that he could easily
keep pace with Metcalf till he should arrive within sight of the
Cross, and that he could then push forward, and beat him. But when
they got within half a mile of the town, Metcalf quitted the road which
leads over the High Bridge, and, knowing that his antagonist could not
swim, made for a deep part of the river above Bridge, and divesting
himself of his upper drapery, swam across; at the same time calling
out jeeringly to his adversary, “that he hoped for the pleasure of his
company up to the Cross.” The other, not liking to commit himself to
the water, gave up the wager.