At night, Metcalf ventured to break cover; and judging it unsafe to remain in the neighbourhood of the hounds, he gave his assistant directions to put his little affairs in order—then mounting his horse, he took the road for Scarborough.
As he was walking one day on the sands, with a friend, he resolved to take a swim in the sea, his companion agreeing to give him an halloo when he should think he had gone far enough outward; but the other, not making a sufficient allowance for the noise of the sea, suffered him to go out of hearing before he shouted, and Metcalf continued swimming until he got out of the sight of his friend, who now suspected he should see him no more. At length he began to reflect, that, should he proceed on to Holland, he had nothing in his pocket to make him welcome;—so turning, and removing his hair from his ears, he thought he heard the breakers beating against the pier which defends the Spa: finding, by the noise, that he was at a great distance, he increased his efforts, and happening to be right, he landed in safety, and relieved his friend from a very painful situation.
Having an aunt at Whitby, near the Allum-works, he went there, left his horse, and got on board an allum ship bound for London.
In London he met with a North-country man who played on the small pipes, and who frequented the houses of many gentlemen in town. By his intelligence Metcalf found out several who were in the habit of visiting Harrogate; and amongst others, Colonel Liddell, who resided in King-street, Covent-Garden, and who gave him a general invitation to his house. The Colonel was a Member of Parliament for Berwick-upon-Tweed, and lived at Ravensworth-Castle, near Newcastle-upon-Tyne; and on his return from London into the North, which generally happened in the month of May, he stopped three weeks at Harrogate, for a number of years successively.
When the winter was over, Metcalf thought he must take a look out of London. Accordingly he set out through Kensington, Hammersmith, Colnbrook, Maidenhead, and Reading, in Berkshire; and returned by Windsor, and Hampton-Court, to London, in the beginning of May. In his absence, Colonel Liddell had sent to his lodgings, to let him know that he was going to Harrogate, and that, if agreeable to him, he might go down either behind his coach or on the top. Metcalf, on his return, waited upon the Colonel, and thanked him, but declined his kind offer, observing, that he could, with great ease, walk as far in a day as he would choose to travel. The next day, at noon, the Colonel, and his suite, consisting of sixteen servants on horseback, set off, Metcalf starting about an hour before them. They were to go by way of Bugden, and he made his way to Barnet. A little way from Barnet the Bugden and St. Albans roads part, and he had taken the latter: however, he made good the destined stage for sleeping, which was Welling, and arrived a little before the Colonel, who was surprized at his performance. Metcalf set off again the next morning before his friends, and coming to Biggleswade, found the road was crossed with water, there being no bridge at that time. He made a circuitous cast, but found no other way, except a foot-path which he was dubious of trusting. A person coming up, asked, “What road are you for?”—He answered, “For Bugden.” “You have had some liquor this morning, I suppose,” said the stranger.—“Yes,” replied Metcalf; although he had tasted none that day. The stranger then bid him follow, and he would bring him into the highway. Soon after they came to some sluices, with planks laid across, and Metcalf followed by the sound of his guide’s feet; then to a gate, on the side of the turnpike, which being locked, he was told to climb over. Metcalf was struck with the kind attention of his conductor, and taking twopence from his pocket, said, “Here, good fellow, take that, and get thee a pint of beer;” but the other declined it, saying he was welcome. Metcalf, however, pressing the reward upon him, was asked, “Can you see very well?” “Not remarkably well,” he replied. “My friend,” said the stranger, “I do not mean to tythe you:—I am Rector of this parish; and so God bless you, and I wish you a good journey.” Metcalf set forward with the parson’s benediction, and stopped every night with the Colonel: On coming to Wetherby, he arrived at the inn before him, as usual, and told the landlord of his approach, who asked him by what means he had become acquainted with that, and was informed by him how he had preceded the Colonel the whole week, this being Saturday, and they had left town on Monday noon. The Colonel arriving, ordered Metcalf into his room, and proposed halting till Monday; but Metcalf replied, “With your leave, Sir, I shall go to Harrogate to-night, and meet you there on Monday.” In truth, he was anxious to know the worst respecting the woman who had been the cause of his journey; and was much pleased to find matters in a better train than he expected, for being in a comfortable way, and not inclined to be farther troublesome. Many friends visited him on Sunday, and the next day the Colonel arrived. But of all his friends, the dearest was at the Royal Oak: with her he had an affectionate meeting, after an absence of seven months. During this interval a young man had been paying his addresses to her; and knowing that Metcalf was acquainted with the family, he solicited him to use what interest he had in his behalf: this, when made known to the lady by the man of her heart, afforded them both great entertainment.
Metcalf became now in great request as a performer at Ripon assembly, which was resorted to by many families of distinction, such as those of Sir Walter Blacket of Newby, Sir John Wray, Sir R. Graham, ’Squire Rhodes, ’Squire Aislaby of Studley, and many others. When he played alone, it was usual with him, after the assembly, to set off for Harrogate or Knaresborough; but when he had an assistant, he remained all night at Ripon to keep him company, his partner being afraid to ride in the dark.
Finding himself worth fifteen pounds, (a larger sum than he ever before had to spare) he made his favourite Miss Benson his treasurer; but as he had not yet begun to speculate in the purchase of land, and a main of cocks being made in the neighbourhood, he became a party, and drawing his cash from the hands of his fair banker, he lost two-thirds of his whole fortune.—The remaining five pounds he laid on a horse which was to run at York a few days after; and though he had the good fortune to win the last wager, his general imprudence in this way produced a little shyness from his sweetheart.
His competitor (not suspecting the intimacy between Metcalf and the young lady) pushed his suit briskly; and after a short time, banns were published in the churches of Knaresborough and Kirby-Overblow.—Metcalf was much surprised, having long thought himself secure of her affection. He now began to believe that she had laid more stress on his late follies than he had been aware of, and the remembrance of them gave him exquisite pain, for he loved her tenderly, and was restrained from proposing marriage to her only by the doubts he had of being able to support her in the manner she had been accustomed to. On the other hand, his pride made him disdain to shew that he was hurt, or to take any measures to prevent the match. The publication of banns being complete, the wedding-day was appointed.—The supposed bridegroom had provided an entertainment at his house for upwards of two hundred people; and going with a few friends to Harrogate on the Sunday, proposed the following day for the nuptials, which were to be solemnized at Knaresborough, intending to return to Harrogate to breakfast, where a bride-cake was ready, with a hamper of wine, which latter was to have been carried to Kirby, for the use of the guests he had invited.
On the Sunday, Metcalf riding pretty smartly past the Royal Oak, towards the Queen’s Head, was loudly accosted in these words—“One wants to speak with you.” He turned immediately to the stables of the Oak, and, to his joyful surprise, found there his favourite, who had sent her mother’s maid to call him. “Well, lass,” said he, “thou’s going to have a merry day to-morrow; am I to be the fidler?”—“Thou never shalt fiddle at my wedding,” replied she. “What’s the matter? What have I done?” said Metcalf.—“Matters may not end,” said she, “as some folks wish they should.” “What!” said he, “hadst thou rather have me? Canst thou bear starving?”—“Yes,” said she, “with thee I can!” “Give me thy hand, then, lass,—skin for skin, it’s all done!”
The girl who had called him being present, he told her, that as she and his horse were the only witnesses to what had passed, he would kill the first who should divulge it.—The immediate concern was to fix on some plan, as Miss Benson was apprehensive of being missed by her friends.—Jack, ever prompt at an expedient, desired that she would that night place a lighted candle in one of the windows of the old house, as soon as the coast was clear, and herself ready to set off, which will doubtless appear to the reader a very extraordinary signal to a blind man; but he had conceived measures for carrying the projected elopement into effect by the assistance of a third person. This being approved of, she went into the house, and in a short time was followed by Metcalf, who was warmly received by the supposed bridegroom and company. The tankard went briskly round with “Success to the intended couple;” in which toast, it may be readily believed, Metcalf joined them most cordially.