Part 11

'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.

Now he happened to have met in Edinburgh a Knaresborough man who had joined Prince Charlie, and this fellow might, Jack thought, be of great help to him in his search. So he sought the man out, and told him that he was tired of serving with the English and felt sure they would be badly beaten, and he would like a place as musician to Prince Charlie. The Knaresborough man at once fell into the trap and replied that an Irish spy was going to join the Prince at Falkirk immediately, and Metcalfe might go with him and ask for an interview.

The first difficulty was with the English sentries in Edinburgh, who refused to let them pass; but Jack overcame this by demanding to be taken before the officer on guard, to whom he explained the real object of his journey.

'Give it up, give it up! my good fellow,' said the captain; 'it is certain death to a man with two eyes, and you have none, though you manage to do so well without them.' But Metcalfe would not listen, so he and the Irishman were allowed to proceed, and after various adventures arrived safely in Falkirk.

All this time, as we have said, Thornton had been caged up in the cupboard in his wet clothes, till he was almost too stiff to stoop to pick up his food when the woman thrust it under his door. He caught a bad cold besides, and more than once could not restrain his cough, even when he knew the soldiers were in the room. They heard it of course, but as the partitions were very thin, they took for granted it was next door, for the dresser completely hid all trace of an opening.

But by Monday night he felt he could not stay in the closet any longer, and when the woman brought him his provisions for the next day he told her that he would not die there like a rat in a hole, but would come out whatever it cost him.

'Remain there till to-morrow night,' she said, 'and I will contrive some way of escape for you,' and so the poor captain was forced to pass another twenty-four hours in his most uncomfortable prison. Then, when the soldiers had all gone off to their night duty, the landlady brought a carpenter whom she could trust to take away the dresser. Oh! how thankful the captain was to stretch himself again, and to put on a Highland dress and a black wig which the woman brought him. He had only ten guineas with him, and eight of them he thankfully gave to the landlady while the other two he bestowed on the carpenter. As he was bid, he slung over his shoulder a bag of tools, and hid himself downstairs till it grew light and people were setting out to work, when he and the carpenter started together just four hours before Metcalfe entered Falkirk. On the way to Edinburgh they had a terrible fright, and narrowly escaped falling into the hands of a large body of Highlanders, but at length they reached a house belonging to a friend of the carpenter's, who lent Thornton a horse, which carried him in safety to Edinburgh.

Metcalfe meanwhile had fared rather badly. His dress, consisting of a plaid waistcoat which he had borrowed, and a blue coat faced with buff, the uniform of his company, had attracted the attention of the Highlanders. He told them that he had been fiddling for the English officers, who had given him the coat (which belonged, he said, to a man killed in the battle) as payment. The men would have been satisfied had not a person chanced to pass who had often seen Jack at Harrogate, and said:

'You had better not let him go without a search; I don't like the look of him.' Accordingly Metcalfe was removed to the guard-room and his clothes examined all over to see if they concealed any letters. The guard even split in two a pack of cards which Metcalfe had in his pocket, imagining that he might have contrived to slip a piece of thin paper between the thick edges of the cardboard then used. The cards, however, had not been employed for this purpose, and after three days' confinement in a loft Metcalfe was tried by court-martial and acquitted, and given besides permission to go to the Prince. By this time, however, he had somehow discovered that Thornton had escaped from Falkirk, so he was only anxious to return to the British army as fast as he could. The Irish spy was equally desirous of taking letters to Edinburgh to some of the friends of Prince Charlie, who were to be found there, but did not know how to pass the English sentries, a difficulty easily solved by Blind Jack, who assured him that he would tell them he was going to Captain Thornton.

Not far from the English outposts the two travellers met with an officer who knew Metcalfe, and informed him to his great delight that the captain was in Edinburgh, so when the sentries were passed he bade farewell to the Irishman after promising to meet him the next night, and went straight to the captain.

'You have given me a great deal of trouble,' was Metcalfe's greeting. 'Really, people might manage to come home from market without being fetched.'

'Well, so I did,' answered Thornton with a laugh. 'But what is to be done now, as I have neither clothes nor cash?'

'Oh, I can get you both!' replied Metcalfe; 'some friends I have here have often heard me speak of you, and they will trust you for payment.' And he was as good as his word, and quickly borrowed thirty pounds, which provided the captain with all the clothes he wanted.

In January 1746 the Duke of Cumberland, Commander-in-Chief of the English army, arrived in Edinburgh, and as Thornton was a great friend of his, the Duke heard all his adventures and the share Blind Jack had taken in them. He then sent for Metcalfe, and being much interested in his story often watched him on the march, and noticed, to his surprise, that, by listening to the drum, Jack was able to keep step with the rest.

The British forces proceeded northwards as far as Aberdeen, where the Duke suddenly determined to give a ball to the ladies and begged that Thornton would allow Metcalfe to play the country dances, as the wind instruments of the German musicians were unsuitable. It must have been rather a strange ball, as up to the last moment it was quite uncertain whether they might not have to fight instead of dance, and the invitations were only sent out at five o'clock for the company to assemble at six. Twenty-five couples were present and kept Metcalfe hard at work till two the next morning; the Duke, then about twenty-five, dancing away with the rest.

The English then turned westwards and defeated the Highlanders at Culloden, near Inverness, after which all British prisoners were set free, and the volunteers returned home.

Captain Thornton and Metcalfe rode back together as far as Knaresborough, where they parted company. Blind Jack's wife had suffered a great deal of anxiety during the eight months of his absence, for she knew that his love of adventure would thrust him into all kinds of unnecessary dangers. But here he was, none the worse for the hardships he had gone through, and in the best of spirits, but, to Dolly's great relief, quite ready to stay at home for a bit.

According to his own account--and again we ask ourselves how much we may believe of Metcalfe's amazing story--there was no end to the different trades he carried on successfully for the rest of his life. He soon grew restless and went to Aberdeen to buy a large supply of stockings, which he sold at a profit among his Yorkshire friends; for a while he became a horse dealer, feeling the animals all over before he made an offer to purchase, so that he knew exactly what condition they were in, and their good and bad points. He next turned smuggler, getting a great deal of excitement out of cheating the Government, and finally took to building bridges and making roads. In 1751 he started a coach between York and Knaresborough, which he drove himself. It ran twice a week in the summer and once in the winter; and as soon as he grew tired of this employment, for he detested being obliged to do things at stated times, he managed with his usual luck to get the business taken off his hands.

We bid farewell to him in 1795 when he was seventy-eight, but still strong and active and able to walk ten miles in three and a half hours. His friendship with Colonel Thornton was as fast as ever, and he remained a welcome guest in several of the big houses round York and Knaresborough. And if perhaps he was not _quite_ so wonderful a person as he thought, and saw some of his deeds through a magnifying glass, there is no doubt that he was a very uncommon man, worthy of all admiration for not allowing his life to be spoilt by his blindness.

_THE STORY OF DJUN_

Once upon a time a famine broke out among the tribe of the Tlingits, and one of their girls, who was an orphan and had to look after herself, would have fared very badly had she not now and then been given some food by her father's sister. But this did not happen often, for everybody was almost starving, and it was seldom that they had any food for themselves, still less for anyone else.

Now the girl, whose name was Djun, heard some of the women planning to go to the forest and dig roots, and though she wished very much to accompany them, they would not take her.

'You will bring us bad luck,' they said, and struck her fingers when, in despair at being left behind, she grasped the side of the canoe. But though the girl was obliged to loosen her hold from pain, she was so hungry that she would not be beaten off, and at last her father's sister, who was one of the party, persuaded the others to let her go with them. So she jumped in and paddled away to the forest.

All that day the women hunted for roots till they had collected a large pile, and had even caught some salmon in the river as well, and as evening drew on they prepared to encamp for the night, and built a fire to warm them and to cook some of the roots. But the girl, who had wandered away by herself as soon as they had landed, did not return, and the women were angry, and said that if she did not choose to come back, she might stay in the forest for ever. And the next morning, when they started for home, they threw water on the fire so that Djun might not be able to cook her food, if she had any to cook. However, the girl's aunt managed to steal a burning coal which lay on the fire, and, unseen by the rest, threw it into a deserted brush-house where they had slept, and put a piece of dried salmon with it. Just as she had done this she caught sight of the girl hiding behind the brush-house, and went to speak to her; for the other women were too busy packing the food into the boat to notice what she was doing.

'Are you not coming with us?' she asked, and Djun answered:

'No; as they don't want to take me, I had better stay here.'

'Well, I have put a live coal in that brush-house for you and a piece of salmon,' said her aunt, 'so you will have something to eat for a day or two.'

* * * * *

The girl did not leave her hiding-place till the boat was out of sight, and then she made a big fire from the burning coal, and cooked her roots and her salmon; but though they smelt very good, and she was hungry, she did not somehow feel as if she could eat. So she soon got up and went farther into the forest and dug some more roots.

'I shall be almost starving by the evening,' thought she, 'and I will eat them then;' but when evening came she had no more appetite than in the morning, so she curled herself up in a corner and fell asleep, for she was very tired.

She was awakened early next day by a rushing of wings, and, looking out of the door, found a flock of birds sweeping by. But there was nothing very uncommon in that, and she lay down again and slept for several hours longer. Then she got up and walked some distance till she reached a flat plain, where the best roots grew, but the flock of birds had found them out also, and were feeding upon them.

When they saw her they flew away, and she went to a spot covered with dead grass, for she expected that would be a good place to dig in. To her surprise, under the dead grass lay several big canoes filled with oil, dried halibut and dried salmon.

'How lucky I am!' she said to herself; 'it was well indeed that I did not return with the others,' and she broke off a piece of salmon and tried to eat it, but she could not.

'What is the matter with me?' she wondered. 'I wish my aunt were here,' and she felt rather frightened. And the next day she grew more frightened still, for she found out that the birds were spirits, and it was they who were preventing her from eating food, so that she might become a great shaman or medicine-man. After a little while her eyes were opened, and she understood many things she had never guessed at, and the spirit-birds she had seen took possession of her, and others came from the woods and the sea, and sang to her.

At first she went two or three times every day to visit the buried canoes and to dig for roots, but she quickly gave that up, for she had nothing with which to sharpen the sticks she used instead of spades; and besides, what was the use of digging for roots if you could not eat them? Meanwhile, in the village the girl's aunt mourned for her, as she felt sure Djun must by this time be dead of hunger.

* * * * *

'I am very lonely: I wish some of my old friends would come to see me,' thought Djun when she had been living by herself for several months, and the next morning a canoe appeared in sight, and in it were seated some people whom she knew. Then Djun was happy indeed, and she bade them follow her to the brush-house, and gave them food out of the canoes; for two or three days they stayed, digging for roots and for anything else they could get, and at the end of the time Djun said to them:

'It is well that you should go again, but be careful not to take with you any of the food that I have given you. Tell my friends that I am alive, and beg my aunt to come and visit me.'

So the people of the canoe returned to the village, and told such tales of the food they had received from Djun that all the townsfolk hastened to get into their canoes and paddled straight off to the place where she was living. When they drew near enough to see the brush-house, they beheld it surrounded by thousands of birds that seemed to stretch right upwards from the earth to the sky. They also heard the shaman's voice and the sound of singing, but as soon as they approached closer to the brush-house, the birds flew away.

After that the shaman went out to meet them, and she asked:

'Where is my aunt? I want her;' and when her aunt came Djun gave her everything that was stored in one of her buried canoes, and then she said:

'I should like two of the women to stay with me and help me with my singing,' and one after another the chief women of the tribe, with their faces newly painted, rose up in the canoes; but she would have none of them, and chose two girls who were orphans like herself, and had been treated very badly by their kinsfolk.

'The rest can come ashore,' she said, 'and camp out here,' but she took the orphans and her aunt into the brush-house.

Now these high-born women had brought their slaves with them, and Djun took the slaves in exchange for food, and put necklaces and paint and feathers and fine robes upon the orphans. And the whole of the village people stayed with her a long while, and when they got into the canoes again they were fat and strong with all that Djun had given them.

* * * * *

For some time Djun lived quite happily in the brush-house now that she had some companions; then a longing took hold of her to go back to her own village, so she worked magic in order to make the chief of the town fall ill, and the people, who had learnt that she had become a shaman, sent a canoe to fetch her and offered her much payment if she would cure him.

The family of Djun the shaman was one of the noblest in the tribe, but misfortune had overtaken them. One by one they had all died, and when the girl came back to the village nothing remained but the posts of her uncle's house, while grass had sprouted inside the walls. She beheld these things from the canoe and felt very sad, but she bade the slaves cease paddling, as she wished to land. Then she drew out an eagle's tail, and, holding it up, blew upon it and waved it backwards and forwards. After she had done this four times, the posts and the grass disappeared, and in their place stood a fine house--finer and larger than the one the chief had lived in.

'Bring in whatever the canoe contains,' she said; and when everything was ready she went into the house, and the two orphan girls went with her.

'The chief's daughter is ill as well as her father,' so Djun heard after she had been back in the village for a few days, and she waited in the house, expecting to be summoned to work a cure. But though they had sent for her while she was living far from them, now that she was amongst them again she looked so like the girl they had known from a child that the people could not believe she could be a _real_ shaman, and called in others. However, in spite of the care of these medicine men, both the chief and his daughter became worse and worse, and in despair, their kinsfolk suddenly bethought themselves of Djun. The girl was not in the house at the time that the messenger arrived, but one of the orphans met him, and asked:

'How much will they pay the shaman if she cures them?'

'Two slaves,' was the answer.

'That is not enough,' said the child; 'go back and tell them so.'

And the messenger went back and came again.

'How much will they pay the shaman?' asked the child as she opened the door to him.

'Two slaves and much goods,' answered he.

'That is well; she will come,' said the child, and the messenger returned with her answer.

* * * * *

'We will go together,' Djun said to the orphans, and the three set off at once to the house of the chief. Inside, there was a crowd of people, except for an empty space round the fire where lay the chief and his daughter. The shaman sat down between them and worked all the spells she knew, but they grew no better. Then she rose and walked through the people in the room, and when she had looked at each one she said to the chief:

'The witch that is killing you two is not here.'

As soon as the people heard that, they left the house and brought in those of the villagers who had not come before, for there was not room for a very great number. For the second time Djun went among them and examined them, and then she repeated:

'The witch is not yet here.' But the spirits, which showed her what others could not see, opened her eyes, and after a moment she spoke again.

'The road of the witch is very clear now; it runs straight to this house.' After that she waited in silence, and the people were silent also. At last they heard a bird whistling in the woods at the back, and the shaman said:

'She is coming now; open the door and let her in,' and they flung the door wide, and there flew in a wild canary.

'Go and sit between the two sick persons,' said Djun, and the canary fluttered towards them, making such a noise with her wings that they were frightened and shrank away from her. And the shaman desired a man to tie the bird's wings to her side so that she might be still. Next a rolling sound such as thunder makes a long way off filled the air.

'Here come her children,' cried the shaman. 'Stop all the holes so that they may not enter, for they are very angry.' But though the holes were stopped, there were cracks in the boards, and the birds flew in through the cracks till the house became full of them, and the noise was deafening. They flew round and round among the people, and whosoever they touched received a cut or a bruise. Suddenly--no one knew how--they all vanished, and not a bird was left in the room save the one which was tied.

* * * * *

Hours had passed since the shaman first came to the house, and it was now morning. The canary never ceased making a noise all that time, and at last the shaman said:

'She wants to go to the place where she has put the food and the locks of hair with which she is bewitching the chief and his daughter. Untie her wings and let her do as she will, but be careful to follow her.' So they untied her wings, and the canary flew out of the house followed by four men, and she hopped ahead of them the way she had come through the woods.

At length she stopped and began scratching at the roots of some bushes till she laid bare a skull. On the top of the skull some leaves, hair, food, and scraps of clothes were carefully arranged in a pattern. She picked up as many of them as she could carry in her beak and flew with them down to the sea, letting the wind scatter them in different directions. This she did till all had disappeared and the skull likewise, and then she returned to the house with the four men following her, and they found the chief and his daughter quite cured, for as soon as the skull and the other things had touched the sea, they recovered by magic.

* * * * *

'Do you hear the noise she is making?' asked the shaman, when the bird had begun to chatter as noisily as before. 'She wants to go away from here, but not to her home, because the other birds will be ashamed of her. The place she wishes to go to is a town called Close-along-the-beach. Therefore, let a canoe be got ready at once to take her there.' So the canoe was got ready, and the bird flew into it, and they pushed off from the shore, and paddled till the bird suddenly broke out into the strange speech, which no one could understand but the shaman.

'This must be the place,' they said, and paddled in towards the beach, and the canary flew out of the boat and went very fast down to the shore followed by a man who wished to see where she was going, and she stopped at a tree whose roots stuck out above the ground. For this was the bird-town of Close-along-the-beach.

That is how the ancient Indians first heard of witchcraft.

[_Tlingit Myths and Texts._]

_WHAT BECAME OF OWEN PARFITT?_

In the early part of the eighteenth century a family named Parfitt were living in a small town in the West of England called Shepton Mallet. We are not told how many children they had, but some probably died young, for the only two we hear about are the eldest daughter Mary and her brother Owen, about fifteen years younger.