Blind Jack plays his Fiddle at the Assembly Balls.
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.