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IIRKIIIT 

LIBRARY 

UNlVflMlTY  Or 
CAIIPOHNM 


THE     HISTOEY 


OF 


MARGARET    CATCHPOLE : 


A   SUFFOLK  GIRL. 


BY 

THE     REV.     RICHARD     COBBOLD, 

RECTOR    OF    WORTHAM    AND    RURAL    DEAN. 
AUTHOB   OF   "THE    SUFFOLK    GIPST,"    "FRESTOX   T0W2E,"    ETC. 


AUTHOR'S   COPYRIGHT  EDITIOX, 


WARD,   LOCK,   BOWDFN,   AND   CO., 

JLONDOX:     WARWICK     HOUSE,     SALISBURY     SQUARE,     E.C. 

NEW  YORK      EAST    12TH   STREET. 
MELBOURNE:     3   AND    5,   ST.  JAMES'S   STREET. 


■  ■ 

-r 

PREFACE. 


Independently  of  this  simple  history  being  a  relation 
of  acts,  well  known  to  many  persons  of  the  highest 
respectability  still  living  in  the  county  of  Suffolk,  it  is 
hoped  that  an  instructive  lesson  may  be  conveyed  by 
it  to  many,  who  may  not  yet  have  seen  th©  necessity 
of  early  and  religious  instruction. 

These  pages  will  prove,  in  a  remarkable  manner, 
that,  however  great  may  be  the  natural  endowments  of 
the  human  mind,  yet,  without  the  culture  of  religious 
principles,  and  the  constant  discipline  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
they  will  never  enable  their  possessor  to  resist  the  tempta- 
tions of  passion,  but  will  be  as  likely  to  le?d  to  great 
crimes  as  to  great  virtues. 

It  will  be  seen  that,  from  the  want  alone  of  the 
early  impressions  of  religion,  the  heroine  of  these  pages 
fell  into  errors  of  temper  and  passion,  which  led  to  the 
violation  of  the  laws  of  God  and  man  ;  but  that,  after 
the  inculcation  of  Christian  faith  and  virtue,  she  became 
conspicuous  for  the  sincerity  of  her  reformation  and  for 
an  exemplary  life  :  that,  though  it  pleased  God  to  grant 
her  "a  place  of  repentance,"  yet  it  was  through  such 
bitter  sorrows  and  sufferings  of  mind  and  body  as  she 
most  devoutly  desired  others  might  be  spared. 

50  s 


VI  PREFACE. 

The  public  may  depend  upon  the  truth  of  the  main 
features  of  this  narrative :  indeed,  most  of  the  facts 
recorded  were  matters  of  public  notoriety  at  the  time  of 
their  occurrence.  The  author  who  here  details  them  is 
a  son  of  the  lady  with  whom  this  extraordinary  female 
lived,  and  from  whose  hands  he  received  the  letters  and 
the  facts  here  given.  He  is  persuaded  that  much  will 
be  found  in  the  history  of  Margaret  Catchpole  highly 
worthy  of  praise  and  imitation;  and,  if  that  which  is 
unworthy  shall  only  be  taken  as  a  warning  example,  he 
humbly  hcpes  that  the  public  will  be  both  gratified  and 
benefited  by  the  publication. 

Rectory,    Wortham, 


THE    HISTOEY    OP 

MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

EAHLY    SCEXES. 


The  heroine  of  this  romantic  but  perfectly  true  narrative  wa3  born 
in  the  year  1773.  There  was  a  large  tract  of  extra-parochial  land 
toward  the  north  of  the  bounds  of  the  parish  of  Nacton,  Suffolk, 
reaching  from  Itushmere  Heath  down  to  the  banks  of  the  beauti- 
ful river  Orwell.  This  tract  was  known  by  the  name  of  Wolfkettel, 
and  commenced  at  the  Seven  Hills,  and  terminated  on  the  south 
side  of  Alneshbourne  Priory. 

The  spot  called  the  Seven  Hills,  though  originally  there  were 
sixteen,  was,  in  all  probability,  the  site  of  the  famous  battle  of 
Arwell,  fought  between  the  Earl  of  Ulfketel  and  the  Danes,  in 
a.d.  1010.  It  was  a  wild  waste,  and  a  great  part  of  it  to  this 
day  remains  much  in  the  same  state,  fit  only  for  sheepwalks  or  a 
warren,  or  as  a  preserve  for  game.  The  tract  lying  nearest  to  the 
Orwell  was  very  early  brought  into  cultivation ;  and  at  the  time 
this  narrative  commences,  was  famous  for  the  production  of  the 
best  barley  in  the  county.  In  a  cottage  on  these  lands  lived 
Jonathan  Catchpole,  an  industrious  labourer,  and  father  of  six 
children,  of  whom  Margaret  was  the  second  daughter,  and  youngest 
child  but  one. 

The  farm  upon  which  the  father  and  his  sons  worked  was  then 
held  by  Mr.  Denton,  who  was  well  known  for  his  famous  Suffolk 
cart-horses — strong  bone,  short  joints,  clean  legs,  stout  chests,  high 
crests,  light  chestnut,  with  silvery  manes,  and  tails  that  ought  to 
have  swept  the  ground,  but  for  a  barbarous  custom  of  docking 
them  at  that  period,  one  of  the  most  insane  fashions  of  the  day. 


8  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

Jonathan  Catchpole  had  a  team  of  these  horses  to  look  after,  and 
was  the  head  ploughman  on  the  estate.  His  boys  were  engaged 
in  various  parts  of  the  farm. 

The  youngest  daughter  was  made  a  sort  of  pet  by  the  rest  of  the 
family  ;  and,  as  the  eldest  girl  was  always  of  a  sickly  constitution, 
it  fell  to  the  lot  of  Margaret  to  carry  her  father's  and  brothers 
meals  to  them  in  the  field. 

Who  has  not  seen  the  healthy  face  of  childhood  in  those  ever 
interesting  years  when  activity  commences  ?  And  what  philan- 
thropist, delighting  in  scenes  of  genuine  simplicity  and  nature, 
could  fail  to  admire  the  ruddy  glow  of  youth,  and  the  elastic  step 
of  confidence,  with  which  the  young  female  peasant  bounds  to 
meet  a  parent  or  a  brother,  at  the  welcome  hour  of  noon,  bearing 
the  frugal  dinner  of  bread  and  cheese,  or  it  may  sometimes  chance 
to  be  bread  and  pork  1 

The  child  becomes  of  some  consequence,  entrusted  with  the 
basket  of  provision  ;  and,  as  she  stands  against  the  bank  of  the 
hedgerow,  watching  the  progressive  march  of  the  horses  as  they 
come  toward  her,  drawing  the  plough  and  turning  over  the  soilj 
guided  as  they  are  by  the  steady  hand  of  her  father,  she  presents 
a  picture  worthy  of  observation. 

On  these  occasions,  Margaret  was  as  punctual  to  her  hour  as 
the  sun.  On  reaching  the  field  she  would  set  her  basket  down  and 
jump  into  her  father's  arms,  and  kiss  his  warm  forehead,  and  receive 
in  return  a  reward,  which  even  in  infancy  gave  her  the  utmost 
delight,  viz.,  a  seat  upon  one  of  the  horses'  backs,  and  there  she 
would  remain  till  she  was  taken  off  by  the  same  hands  which  placed 
her  there,  and  gave  her  the  empty  basket  to  carry  home . 

"  May  I  come  in  the  evening,  father  ? "  she  used  to  say,  as  she 
looked  wistfully  round  the  horizon,  to  see  if  any  appearance  of 
rain  forebode  an  unfavourable  answer  ;  for  this  request  "  to  come 
in  the  evening  "  contained  an  imaginative  delight,  exceeding  in  its 
kind  the  prospect  of  the  fox  hunter  for  a  coming  run.  For  Mar- 
garet, when  she  did  "come  in  the  evening,"  used  to  have  the  privi- 
lege of  riding  home  one  of  the  plough-horses. 

This  was  a  singular  penchant  for  a  female  child  to  imbibe,  but 
with  it  mingled  the  pleasure  of  her  father's  and  brothers'  smiles ; 
and  this,  after  a  day  of  toil,  seemed  to  give  elasticity  to  their 
spirits,  and  formed  an  agreeable  change  to  the  unvarying  monotony 
of  ploughing  straight  lines,  the  clinking  of  chains,  and  their  rural 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  9 

"  wooah  come  either,  woree,  wuoo,  jeh  I "  sounds  as  unintelligible  to 
some  readers  as  the  language  of  the  savages  of  the  Caribbee  islands, 
when  first  discovered. 

Sometimes  the  crack  of  the  whip  would  make  the  horses  start, 
and  the  young  men,  her  brothers,  who  would  try  to  frighten  their 
sister,  found,  instead  of  so  doing,  that  it  only  increased  the  pleasure 
of  her  ride.     At  length,  she  began  to  trot  the  leading  horse  home. 

After  a  time,  this  privilege  wa3  extended  to  riding  the  farm- 
horses  down  to  water  ;  and  this  appears  to  have  been  the  very 
summit  of  Margaret's  delight.  She  used  to  take  her  brother's  whip 
in  her  tiny  hand,  drive  the  whole  team  before  her  into  the  water, 
keep  them  in  order  while  there,  and  then  drive  them  out  again, 
up  the  sandy  lane,  into  the  stable-yard. 

It  is  well  known  that  at  such  times  it  is  no  easy  task  to  sit  a 
cart-horse  ;  for  they  will  kick,  and  plunge,  and  exhibit  that  rough 
kind  of  amusement  known  by  the  name  of  "horse-play,"  which 
has  as  much  of  shrieking  and  biting  as  it  has  of  gambolling  in  it. 

In  going  out  to,  and  coming  home  from  water,  horses  accus- 
tomed to  the  heaviest  labour,  if  at  all  well  fed,  will  exhibit  no 
mean  share  of  this  species  of  spirit  ;  and  woe  be  to  the  lad  with- 
out a  whip  in  his  hand,  or  who  has  not  a  very  steady  seat  ! 

Gainsborough  and  Constable  were  both  lovers  of  the  scenery 
around  Ipswich;  and  many  are  the  sketches  in  the  possession  of 
their  Suffolk  friends,  which  speak  their  admiration  of  the  beautiful 
landscapes  which  surround  the  river  Orwell. 

Had  these  artists  seen  Margaret  in  her  equestrian  character, 
they  would  have  immortalized  her  ;  for  nothing  could  have  been 
more  appropriate  to  the  spirit  of  their  works. 

Margaret  was  fearless  as  a  Newmarket  jockey  ;  and  never  was 
known  to  have  had  a  single  fall.  She  kept  her  seat  as  well  as  any 
of  the  tutored  children  of  the  celebrated  but  unfortunate  Ducrow  : 
indeed,  it  may  be  fairly  questioned  if  any  one  of  his  troop  could 
have  managed  to  sit  a  Suffolk  cart-horse  with  the  same  com- 
posure. 

The  fame  of  our  young  heroine's  exploits  reached  but  little 
farther  than  the  sequestered  farm-house  to  which  her  parents 
belonged,  excepting  now  and  then  at  the  Ipswich  races,  when 
some  of  the  lads  saw  an  awkward  rider,  they  would  exclaim  to 
each  other,   "  Margaret  would  beat  him  hollow." 

Time  flew  swiftly  on,  producing  no  farther  change  in  the  family 


IO  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

of  the  Catchpoles  than  what  may  be  usually  seen  in  the  habita- 
tions of  the  labouring  class.  Those  are  generally  the  most  sta- 
tionary race  of  all  people  in  a  parish,  who  have  constant  employment 
on  a  large  farm  :  the  owners  of  lands  change  their  places  of  abode 
— sell  their  estates — and  leave  the  country  ;  the  tenants  frequently 
change  their  occupations  ;  but  the  labourer  remains  to  cultivate 
the  soil,  and  is  always  found  a  resident  among  those  "  poor  who 
shall  never  perish  out  of  the  land."  They  have  their  friends  and 
fellow-labourers,  and  feel  as  much  interest  in  each  other's  welfare 
as  the  members  of  richer  or  wider-spread  fraternities. 

The  Catchpoles  and  the  Cracknells  were  two  families  that  prin- 
cipally worked  upon  the  lands  of  Mr.  Denton.  Their  houses  were 
indeed  widely  separated  ;  but  as  their  labours  were  in  the  same 
field,  their  occasions  of  meeting  were  frequent,  their  intimacy 
became  strict,  and  they  were  of  mutual  assistance  to  each  other. 
One  lived  near  the  street  at  Nacton,  and  the  other  upon  the  farm  ; 
so  that  whenever  there  was  any  occasion  to  go  to  Nacton,  the 
Catchpoles  always  had  a  friend's  house  to  call  at,  and  the  Cracknells 
were  as  constantly  using  the  Catchpoles'  cottage  at  the  entrance  of 
the  lane  leading  down  to  the  farm-house. 

This  intimacy  was  productive  of  especial  accommodation  on  the 
Sabbath-day  ;  for  the  Catchpoles,  being  at  a  great  distance  from 
church,  they  made  use  of  the  Cracknells'  cottage,  near  the  street, 
and  used  to  carry  their  meals  there,  with  the  view  of  attending 
the  church  service  twice  on  that  day. 

At  that  time,  education  was  not  so  widely  spread  a3  it  is  now  ; 
and  the  particular  spot  in  which  this  labourer's  cottage  stood  being 
extra-parochial,  they  had  to  seek  what  little  instruction  they  could 
obtain  from  the  neighbouring  parish  of  Nacton.  The  Reverend 
Mr.  Hewitt  wras  as  attentive  to  his  people  as  he  could  be,  and  was 
much  assisted  in  his  duties  by  the  family  of  Admiral  Vernon,  who 
at  that  time  lived  at  Orwell  Park,  and  by  Philip  Broke,  Esq.,  the 
great  landlord  of  that  district,  and  the  father  of  our  deeply- 
lamented  and  gallant  Suffolk  hero,  Sir  Philip  Broke.  But  edu- 
cation was  not  considered  then  so  great  a  desideratum  as  it  is 
now,  though  the  pious  wish  of  England's  patriarchal  sovereign, 
George  III.,  "  that  every  cottager  might  have  a  Bible,  and  be  able 
to  read  it,"  was  nobly  responded  to  through  every  densely-peopled 
district  in  his  kingdom. 

The  Catchpoles  were  not  an  irreligious  family,  though  they  could 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  II 

none  of  them  read  or  write.  They  were  not  ignorant,  though  thty 
were  uneducated.  The  father  always  repeated  aloud  the  Lord's 
Prayer  every  night  before  his  family  retired  to  rest,  and  the  first 
thing  before  they  went  to  their  work  in  the  morning.  They  were 
generally  respected  by  their  master  and  mistress,  their  friends  and 
acquaintance.  They  were  a  well-conducted,  orderly  family,  and 
were  united  in  love  as  dearly  a3  those  who  had  the  greater  zjst  of 
education  and  cultivation  to  heighten  their  domestic  affections. 

Margaret  grew  up  to  her  thirteenth  year,  a  fine,  active,  intel- 
ligent girl.  She  had  a  brother  younger  than  herself  by  five  or  six 
years,  of  whom  she  was  very  fond,  from  having  nursed  him  during 
the  occasional  absence  of  her  mother.  Her  elder  sister  was  always, 
as  we  have  stated,  of  a  sickly  constitution,  and  very  delicate  :  she 
had  very  little  bodily  strength,  but  she  had  learned  to  knit  and  to 
sew,  and  in  these  things  she  excelled  ;  and  was  the  sempstress  of 
the  whole  family.  She  was  of  a  sweet  temper,  so  gentle,  so  affec- 
tionate, and  so  quiet,  that,  though  a  complete  contrast  to  her  sister, 
she  nevertheless  maintained  a  just  ascendency  over  the  high  spirit 
of  Margaret,  which  was  always  curbed  by  any  quiet  reproof  from 
the  calm  wisdom  of  the  invalid. 

We  have  seen  something  of  Margaret's  infant  spirit  :  we  must 
no.v  record  a  simple  fact  of  her  childhood,  which  exhibits  a  singular 
instance  of  intrepidity  and  presence  of  mind  in  a  child  not  yet  four- 
teen years  old. 

It  chanced  that  her  mother  one  day  sent  her  down  to  the  farm- 
house to  ask  for  a  little  broth,  which  had  been  promised  by  Mrs. 
Denton,  her  mistress,  for  poor  Susan.  Her  father  and  her  brothers 
were  all  at  work  on  a  distant  part  of  the  farm  ;  and,  being  harvest- 
time,  master  and  man  were  every  one  engaged.  When  Margaret 
arrived  at  the  gate,  she  heard  a  shriek  from  a  female  in  the  house, 
and  in  another  minute  she  was  in  the  kitchen,  where  the  mistress 
of  the  house  had  suddenly  fallen  down  in  a  fit.  In  one  moment  the 
girl  of  fourteen  exhibited  a  character  which  showed  the  powerful 
impetus  of  a  strong  mind.  The  two  girls  in  the  house  were  shriek- 
ing with  fright  over  their  fallen  mistress,  and  were  incapable  of  ren- 
dering the  least  assistance.  They  stood  wringing  their  hands  and 
stamping  their  feet,  and  exclaiming,  "Oh,  my  mistress  is  dead  ! — 
Oh,  my  mistress  is  dead  !  " 

"  She  is  not  dead  !  "  said  Margaret  ;  "  she  is  not  dead  !  Don't 
stand  blubbering  there,  but  get  some  cold  water  ;  lift  up  her  head, 


12  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

untie  her  cap,  loose  her  gown,  and  raise  her  into  the  chair."  Not 
waiting  to  see  how  her  words  were  taken,  she  did  the  work  herself, 
and  caused  the  others  to  help  her.  She  used  the  water  freely,  and 
gave  the  chest  full  play,  dragged  the  chair  toward  the  door,  sent 
one  of  the  girls  for  some  vinegar,  and  made  the  other  rub  her 
hands  and  feet ;  and  did  not  slacken  her  attention  until  she  saw 
some  symptoms  of  returning  animation.  When  the  breathing  be- 
came more  composed,  and  the  extremities  more  sensitive,  she  sent 
off  one  of  the  girls  to  the  harvest-field  for  help  ;  and  telling  the 
servant-girl  that  she  was  going  for  Dr.  Stebbing,  she  went  to  the 
stable,  unslipped  the  knot  by  which  the  pony  was  tied  to  the  rack  ; 
and,  with  only  the  halter  in  her  hand,  without  saddle  or  bridle,  she 
sprang  upon  the  fiery  little  Suffolk  Punch,  snapped  her  fingers 
instead  of  a  whip,  and  was  up  the  sandy  lane,  and  on  to  the  high 
road  to  Ipswich,  before  the  other  girl  was  fairly  across  the  first 
field  towards  her  master.  She  did  not  stop  even  to  tell  her  mother 
where  she  was  going,  but  dashed  past  the  cottage. 

On  she  went,  and  well  had  she  her  own  wishes  answered  by  the 
fiery  little  animal  she  bestrode.  Her  heart  was  up,  and  so  was 
the  pony's,  who,  feeling  a  light  weight  upon  his  back,  and  a  tight 
seat  over  his  ribs,  gave  full  play  to  his  lungs  and  legs,  and  answered 
to  her  heart's  content  the  snap  of  the  finger  for  expedition.  Those 
who  beheld  the  animal  would  be  astonished,  and  ask  where  all  the 
speed  could  be.  But  speed  there  was  in  his  strong  and  well-knit 
limbs.  So  close  was  he  put  together,  that  his  action  was  almost 
like  a  ball  bounding  down  the  side  of  Malvern  hills.  Nothing 
seemed  to  check  the  speed  of  Margaret  or  her  steed.  She  passed 
every  cart  jogging  on  to  Ipswich  market,  without  taking  any  notice 
of  the  drivers,  though  she  knew  many  of  them  well.  Her  mistress 
and  the  doctor  were  the  only  things  in  her  mind's  eye  at  this 
time,  and  they  were  four  miles  asunder,  and  the  sooner  she  could 
bring  them  together  the  better.  She  even  met  Admiral  Vernon's 
carriage  just  as  she  turned  on  to  the  Ipswich  race-course,  at  the 
part  now  called  Nacton  Corner.  The  Admiral's  attention  was  called 
to  the  extraordinary  sight  of  a  female  child  astride  a  pony  at  full 
speed,  with  nothing  but  a  halter  over  his  head,  and  that  held  as 
loosely  as  if  the  rider  wished  to  go  at  full  speed.  The  servants 
called  to  the  child,  even  the  Admiral  was  sufficiently  excited  to 
do  the  same  ;  but  he  might  as  well  have  attempted  to  stop  a  vessel 
in  full  sail,  with  a  strong  and  favourable  wind. 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  1 3 

Away  she  dashed,  regardless  of  any  impediment.  She  passed 
one  young  farmer  from  Stratton  Hall,  who  rode  what  might  be 
termed  a  high-bred  horse.  It  was  a  noble  turf,  and  an  open 
course  ;  and  the  young  man,  as  much  astonished  as  if  it  were  an 
apparition  before  him,  though  convinced  that  it  was  flesh  and  blood, 
stuck  his  spurs  into  his  charger's  side,  and  gave  him  his  rein  with 
the  full  determination  to  overtake  her.  But  this  was  not  so  easy 
a  task  as  he  anticipated.  The  little  nag,  hearing  the  clank  of 
heels  behind  him,  turned  his  head  first  on  one  side,  then  on  the 
other  ;  and,  lifting  up  his  nose  like  a  stag,  darted  onward  with 
redoubled  speed.  Not  Mazeppa  with  more  sudden  bound  could 
have  sprung  forward  with  more  spirit  than  this  wild  little  home- 
bred nag  did  down  the  wide  turf  of  the  race-course.  The  youth 
called  aloud  to  know  what  was  the  matter,  but  Margaret  heeded 
him  not ;  and  long  before  she  had  reached  the  stewards'  stand,  she 
had  fairly  distanced  the  young  squire  of  Stratton  Hall.  At  length 
she  reached  the  end  of  the  race-course,  and  came  on  to  the  common 
of  Bishop's  Hill.  It  is  a  very  deep  descent  down  that  hill  to  the 
town  of  Ipswich,  which,  from  its  summit,  seems  to  lie  at  the  very 
bottom  of  an  extensive  pit.  Bat  it  is  a  noble  expanse  that  lies 
before  the  spectator  upon  that  eminence.  The  beautiful  river 
flowing  to  the  left,  and  forming  an  expanded  semicircle  bordering 
the  town,  and  the  distant  country  rising  with  amphitheatric  grandeur 
beyond  the  barracks,  and  above  the  towers  of  twelve  churches, 
might  induce  even  a  hasty  traveller  to  pause  and  look  upon  that 
sight.  But  Margaret  did  not  pause.  Down  she  dashed  from  the 
verge  of  the  hill  into  the  very  thickest  part  of  the  back  hamlet 
of  St.  Clement's.  It  was  market-day,  and  scores  of  pig-carts,  and 
carriers'  vans,  and  waggons,  stood  on  one  side  of  the  road,  taking 
up  nearly  half  the  street.  But  on  through  them  all  at  full  speed 
dashed  the  intrepid  girl.  From  every  house  people  rushed  to  see 
the  sight — a  girl,  with  her  bonnet  hanging  down  behind  her,  and 
going  like  lightning  through  the  crowded  thoroughfare,  was  an 
extraordinary  sight. 

People  gave  way  as  she  rode  fearlessly  on,  and  followed  her  up 
St.  Clement's  Fore  Street,  over  the  stone  pavement  across  the 
Wash  into  Orwell  Place,  where  lived  the  ever  humane,  though 
eccentric  surgeon,  Mr.  George  Stebbing.  But  not  until  she  reached 
his  very  door  did  Margaret  give  the  first  check  to  the  pony. 

A    passing  spectator,   who   was   at   the    moment   opposite    the 


14  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

surgeon's  door,  with  an  instinctive  thought  of  her  errand,  gave  a 
violent  ring  at  the  surgery-bell,  and  received  such  a  joyous  "Thank 
you,  sir,"  from  the  child,  that  he  stopped  to  see  the  result. 

By  this  time  the  street  was  full  of  spectators,  all  anxious  to 
know  what  was  the  matter  ;  but  Margaret's  eye  was  fixed  upon 
the  door,  and  the  very  moment  it  was  opened  and  the  doctor 
himself  appeared,  she  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  come  to  my  mistress, 
sir,  directly  ! — come  to  my  mistress  !  " 

The  gentleman  who  had  rung  the  bell  was  Mr.  Nathaniel  South- 
gate,  of  Great  Dealings,  a  rich  and  excellent  agriculturist,  and 
an  acquaintance  of  the  doctor's.  Having  followed  him  into  the 
surgery,  and  there  learnt  the  feat  the  child  had  performed,  he 
at  once  resolved  to  take  her  into  his  own  service  ;  and  he  gave 
her  a  crown  as  a  present,  telling  her,  if  she  was  a  good  girl  she 
should  come  and  live  with  him.  With  the  former  communication, 
Margaret,  as  might  be  supposed,  was  not  a  little  pleased  ;  but  upon 
the  latter  she  put  a  very  grave  face. 

The  doctor's  gig  being  by  this  time  ready  at  the  door,  he  placed 
Margaret  beside  him,  and  started  for  the  farm,  chatting  by  the 
way  about  her  poor  sister  Susan,  whom  she  asked  the  doctor  to 
visit  as  he  returned  from  the  farm.  Once  only  did  she  seem 
to  reflect  in  an  unfavourable  manner  upon  the  act  she  had 
done,  and  said  to  the  doctor,  "I  hope,  sir,  if  my  master  should 
be  angry  at  my  taking  the  pony,  you  will  beg  of  him  to  forgive 
me." 

On  arriving  at  the  farm,  the  doctor  found  that  the  mistress  of 
the  house  was  much  better  ;  and  he  then  learned  from  the  servant- 
girls,  that,  but  for  little  Margaret's  presence  of  mind  and  activity, 
the  apoplectic  fit  might  have  terminated  fatally. 

Having  given  the  needful  instructions  as  to  the  treatment  of  the 
invalid,  the  doctor  once  more  took  Margaret  in  his  gig,  and  drove 
to  the  cottage  ;  where,  having  visited  and  prescribed  for  poor 
Susan,  he  took  leave  of  the  grateful  family  by  telling  Margaret, 
that  if  ever  she  stood  in  need  of  a  friend  to  help  her,  she  had  only 
to  "  post  off  again  for  the  doctor." 

Numerous  were  the  inquiries  concerning  Margaret  and  her 
expedition,  and  she  found  herself,  much  to  her  surprise  and 
chagrin,  extolled  for  her  horsewomanship.  She  began,  therefore, 
to  be  shy  of  riding  the  horses  at  the  farm ;  and  modesty  told  her, 
row  that  her  fame  began  to  spread,  there  was  something  bold  and 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  15 

conspicuous  in  her  former  pleasures  of  this  kind.  So  sensitive  was 
she  upon  this  point,  that  she  avoided  as  much  as  possible  all  allusion 
to  her  past  habits,  and  for  the  future  carefully  avoided  the  horse- 
yard  and  the  horses.  Her  father  and  brothers  observed  this,  and 
would  sometimes  say,  "  Peggy,  you  will  soon  forget  how  to  ride." 

"The  sooner  the  better,"  she  would  reply,  "  if  I  am  to  heave 
people  staring  at  me  as  they  now  do." 

Susan  perceived  with  satisfaction  that  Margaret,  instead  of  being 
vain,  and  puffed  up  with  the  notice  of  the  world,  was  quite  the 
reverse.  Numbers  might  have  risen  in  their  own  opinion,  and 
have  been  giddy  from  the  continual  praise  of  one  and  another  ;  but 
in  this  case  it  became  a  subject  of  annoyance  rather  than  of  con- 
gratulation, and  her  sister  began  to  fear,  from  finding  her  so  much 
more  occupied  in  the  house,  and  especially  for  herself,  that  Mar- 
garet's health  would  suffer. 

It  was  with  some  degree  of  satisfaction  that  an  opportunity  was 
soon  afforded  for  a  change  of  place  and  action  for  her  sister.  Her 
uncle  Catchpole  came  expressly  from  Mr.  Nathaniel  Southgate,  of 
Great  Bealings,  to  treat  with  her  parents  about  Margaret's  going 
to  service  ;  and  matters  were  so  speedily  arranged,  agreeably  to  all 
parties,  that  she  was  to  accompany  her  uncle  on  his  return  home. 
All  seemed  to  think  it  a  good  thing  for  the  girl  ;  even  she  herself, 
though  quite  new  to  the  work  of  a  dairymaid,  thought  that  she 
should  thus  escape  the  unpleasant  observation  she  had  been  subject 
to.  This  accounted  for  the  readiness  with  which  she  complied 
with  her  uncle's  advice. 

When,  however,  the  hour  of  departure  came,  never  perhaps  did 
a  cottage-girl  leave  home  with  a  heavier  heart  :  tears,  unrestrained 
tears,  ran  in  an  honest  current  over  her  young  face.  Oh,  how 
Margaret  loved  her  poor  sick  sister  !  how  deeply  she  felt  the  grief 
of  leaving  her  !  nor  would  she  consent  to  leave  her,  except  under 
the  faithful  promise  that  her  father,  or  one  of  her  brothers,  would 
frequently  come  and  see  her,  and  bring  her  word  of  Susan's  health. 

"Dear  sister,"  she  said  to  Susan,  "  dear  sister,  if  you  should  be 
worse,  oh,  do  let  me  come  and  nurse  you  !  I  love  to  wait  upon 
you,  I  feel  so  happy  to  see  you  smile." 

"  God  bless  you,  dear  little  Peggy  ! "  was  the  reply.  "  God 
bless  you  !  Mind  and  be  a  good  girl,  and  take  pains  to  do  your 
duty  well.  Charles,  or  John,  and  sometimes  little  Ned,  will  walk 
over  to  Bealings.     I  will  send  for  you  if  I  am  worse,  for  I  too  love 


10  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

to  have  you  near  me  ;  but  it  is  best  for  us  both  that  we  should  be 
parted  for  a  time,  and  especially  for  you,  as  you  can  learn  nothing 
more  at  home. " 

The  kiss  of  filial  and  parental  and  brotherly  and  sisterly  love  was 
given  through  manj  tears,  and  the  little  Margaret  departed  for 
her  first  place. 

She  went  with  a  high  character  from  home,  and  to  a  place  where 
that  good  character  had  preceded  her,  in  the  estimation  of  the 
gentleman  who  so  promptly  rang  the  bell  for  her  at  the  doctor's 
door.  She  stayed  a  day  or  two  with  her  uncle  in  the  cottage  in 
which  she  was  born,  and  then  entered  into  the  service  of  Mr. 
Nathaniel  Southgate.  At  her  very  first  interview  with  her  new 
master,  she  begged  of  him  never  to  talk  about  her  riding  the  pony, 
and  as  much  as  possible  to  prevent  others  speaking  of  it.  This 
very  much  raised  her  in  the  good  opinion  of  her  master  and  mis- 
tress, for  they  had  some  fears  lest  she  might  be  too  fond  of  riding 
to  mind  her  work.  They  found  her,  however,  completely  cured  of 
this  propensity,  nor  could  she  be  induced,  in  a  new  and  strange 
place,  ever  to  mount  a  horse  or  pony. 

How  seldom  does  public  praise  make  mortals  shy  !  yet  where 
true  modesty  prevails  this  is  found  to  be  the  case.  It  speaks 
highly  for  this  young  girl,  who,  from  an  innate  distaste  to 
notoriety,  shunned  a  habit  which  had  once  been  a  prevailing  plea- 
sure, and  in  which,  till  the  world  spoke  loudly  of  her  merit,  she 
felt  no  degree  of  shame.  How  singular  that  such  a  being  should 
ever  become  so  conspicuous,  as  she  afterwards  did,  in  that  very  line 
which  she  now  so  sedulously  avoided  !  Well  may  we  all  say, 
"  We  know  not  what  manner  of  spirit  we  are  of." 

In  the  situation  which  Margaret  first  occupied,  her  mistress 
found  her  all  that  she  required— she  was  very  apt  at  learning  to  do 
her  work,  very  diligent  in  the  performance  of  it,  and  always  gave 
satisfaction.  She  had  plenty  of  employment,  and  was  stirring  with 
the  lark,  soon  understood  the  accustomed  duties  of  a  dairywoman, 
and  was  always  praised  for  cleanliness  and  good  conduct. 

A  year  passed  away  rapidly.  Margaret,  at  fifteen  years  of  age, 
was  as  tall  as  she  was  afterwards  at  twenty  ;  she  was  strong,  too, 
though  slim.  One  year  makes  a  great  difference  in  a  female  at  that 
age — Some  are  almost  women  at  sixteen,  when  boys  are,  generally 
speaking,  awkward  clowns.  She  went  to  service  before  she  had 
completed  her  fourteenth  year. 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  1 7 

Margaret  remained  a  year  and  a  half  at  Bealings,  remarkable 
for  the  strict  propriety  of  her  behaviour,  and  for  the  cheerfulness  of 
her  disposition.  She  had  stipulated  with  her  mistress  that,  in 
case  of  her  sister's  death,  or  of  her  requiring  her  aid  at  the  near 
approach  thereto,  she  should  have  full  permission  to  leave.  It 
was  on  this  account  that,  in  the  "Whitsuntide  following,  she  left 
her  situation,  and  went  to  attend  her  poor  sister. 

Susan,  who  was  then  in  her  twentieth  year,  had  lingered  on, 
gradually  getting  weaker  and  weaker,  until  she  was  quite  unable. 
to  rise  from  her  bed.  Her  heart  always  yearned  towards  her 
sister  ;  and,  as  she  had  promised  to  let  her  be  with  her  during  her 
few  last  days,  and  she  herself  thought  those  days  were  almost 
numbered,  she  now  sought  her  assistance.  Margaret's  affection 
answered  the  sister's  call,  and  she  was  ready  to  place  all  her 
earnings  and  all  her  labours  at  that  sick  sister's  service.  She 
hesitated  not ;  but,  taking  a  respectful  and  grateful  leave  of  the 
family  at  Bealings,  she  was,  at  Whitsuntide,  again  an  inmate  of 
her  father's  house. 

It  has  been  stated,  some  few  pages  back,  that  between  the 
Catchpoles  and  Cracknells,  as  labourers  upon  the  same  farm, 
there  existed  a  close  intimacy  :  it  was  "Whitsuntide,  and  Mrs. 
Cracknell's  baby  was  to  be  christened.  Poor  Susan  was  to  have 
been  one  of  the  sponsors,  and  the  child  to  be  named  after  her  ;  but 
"  poor  Susan  was  laid  on  her  pillow,"  and  could  not  answer  to 
the  call  of  her  neighbour  in  any  other  way  than  by  her  prayers. 
Margaret  was  therefore  asked  to  take  Susan's  place,  which  she 
consented  to  do,  and  went  early  to  Nacton,  to  render  what  assistance 
she  might  be  able  to  give  in  the  celebration  of  this  event. 

Neighbour  Cracknel!  kept  a  little  shop  of  such  goods  as  might 
be  obtained  at  the  large,  red-bricked,  coffin-shaped  house  of  Mr. 
Simon  Baker,  grocer,  St.  Clement's  Street,  Ipswich.  This  shop 
divided  the  fore  and  back  hamlets  of  St.  Clement's,  and  was  the 
first  from  the  Nacton  Road,  entering  upon  the  pavement  of  the 
town.  Master  Cracknell  and  his  boys  spared  what  they  could  for 
the  thrifty  wife  at  home,  who  had  fitted  up  her  closet  window 
with  shelves,  and  placed  thereupon  a  stock  of  threads,  pins, 
needles,  soap,  starch,  tape,  and  such-like  small  and  least  perish- 
able articles,  as  might  make  some  return  in  the  shape  of  home 
profit,  instead  of  working  in  the  fields. 

This  cottage  stood  at  the  entrance  of  the  village,  and  the  shop, 


1 8  THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

if  such  it  might  be  called,  had  frequent  customers  among  the  poor. 
A  single  candle,  a  small  loaf,  half  an  ounce  of  tea,  a  halfpenm 
worth  of  cheese,  a  pennyworth  of  butter,  or  sugar,  or  snuff,  « 
tobacco,  could  here  be  obtained.     Thus  Dame  Cracknell  manage 
to  turn  a   penny   in   her  own  way  ;  contented  with  small  gains, 
she  provided  for  her  rapidly  increasing  family   in   a  decent  and 
honest  manner,  and  looked  forward  with  hope  for  more  custom. 
She  made    no  outward  show  to  create  opposition,    and,  had   she 
always  done  so,  might  have  gone  on  prosperously ;  but  this  joyful 
Whitsuntide,  which  found  her  and  her  friends  so  quietly  happy, 
was  fraught  with  untoward  circumstances,  which  neither  she  nor 
her  neighbours  could  foresee.     She  had  invited  a  few  friends  to 
partake  of  her  christening  fare,  and  expected  her  relative,  Stephen 
Laud,  from   Felixstow   Ferry,  to  stand  with   Margaret  Catchpole 
and  herself  as  sponsors  for  the  little  Susan. 

This  Stephen  Laud  was  a  famous  boatman,  and  for  many  years 
plied  at  the  fercy-boat  between  Harwich  and  Langer  Fort,  now 
called  Landguard  Fort.  That  it  required  a  skilful  pilot  to  manage 
a  ferry-boat,  which  had  nearly  two  miles  to  run  from  the  Suffolk 
to  the  Essex  side,  will  be  easily  imagined.  As  government  letter 
were  always  conveyed  from  Harwich  to  the  fort,  at  that  time,  the 
ferryman  was  in  the  receipt  of  government  pay,  and  it  was  considered 
a  good  situation  for  an  active  man.  Such  was  Stephen  Laud — and 
not  only  active,  but  a  man  of  no  common  intelligence.  He  had 
been  left  a  widower,  with  one  son,  William,  whose  uncle,  a  boat- 
builder  at  Aldborough,  had  taken  a  great  liking  to  him.  He  had 
bound  him  apprentice  to  Mr.  Turner,  the  ship-builder,  at  Harwich, 
where  the  boy  had  acquired  no  mean  tact  at  his  employment,  and 
grew  up  a  good  workman,  though  somewhat  too  free  a  spirit  for  a 
settled  character.  He  was  very  fond  of  the  sea,  and,  from  the 
joyous  buoyancy  of  his  disposition,  the  captains  of  the  traders 
to  Aldborough  used  frequently  to  give  him   a  run. 

Mr.  Crabbe,  a  brother  of  the  celebrated  poet,  with  whom  young 
Laud  studied  navigation,  used  to  say  he  was  the  quickest  lad  as 
a  mathematician  he  ever  knew.  He  was  a  merry,  high-spirited 
sailor,  rather  than  a  boat-builder.  He  was  very  intimate  with  one 
Captain  Bargood,  a  master  and  owner  of  several  ships  then  trading 
along  the  coast,  and  over  to  Holland. 

So  taken  was  the  captain  with  Will  Laud,  that  he  would  have 
persuaded  him  at  once  to  join  service  with  him.     Will  was  generally 


THE   HISTORY   OF  MARGARET  CATCHPOLE.  1 9 

Liked  ;  and  though  his  uncle  wished  him  to  stick  to  the  boat- 
building, he  could  not  but  confess  that  he  would  make  a  far  better 
sailor.  He  knew,  however,  that  his  old  father,  the  pilot,  would 
not  approve  of  his  going  to  sea  for  a  permanency,  without  his 
having  a  voice  in  the  matter;  and  as  Captain  Bargood  offered  to 
give  young  Laud  a  fair  share  of  profits  without  loss,  and  Will  had 
such  a  turn  for  the  sea,  he  had  sent  him  over  to  his  father,  to  ask 
his  consent  to  this  change  in  his  course.  This  was  the  subject  of 
their  conversation,  as,  upon  the  Whitsuntide  mentioned,  they 
journeyed  on  foot  from  Felixstow  Ferry  to  Nacton,  a  distance  of 
six  miles. 

"  You  speak  famously,  boy,  of  this  captain  :  he  may  be  all  right, 
and  his  offers  to  you  seem  to  be  good.  I  have  heard  it  hinted, 
however,  that  he  is  not  over-nice  ;  and  that  though,  as  times  go, 
he  may  be  an  honest  trader,  yet  that  he  can  find  friends  to  help 
him  over  with  a  cargo  of  moonshine,  and  get  a  good  run  too  into 
the  country." 

"I  never  heard  a  word  of  any  such  traffic,  father,  and  whenever 
I  have  been  with  him  I  have  never  seen  him  in  any  suspicious 
company.  He  would  never  persuade  me  to  this  work,  father.  I 
am  the  son  of  a  government  man,  and  I  hope  I  shall  always  prove 
myself  an  honest  tar." 

"I  hope  so  too,  my  boy  ;  I  hope  so,  too  ;  but  when  once  the 
block  runs,  down  fall  the  sails.  Take  care,  my  lad  ;  keep  your 
eye  ahead." 

"Don't  be  afraid,  father;  only  you  give  consent,  and  I  shall 
sail  with  fair  wind  and  weather." 

"I  can  but  wish  you  well,  boy  ;  I  can  give  you  but  little  help. 
You  are  now  entering  your  twentieth  year,  and  seem  to  me  deter- 
mined to  go  to  sea.  I  shall  not  persuade  you  against  your  own 
inclinations  ;  so  go,  and  may  the  great  Pilot  above  keep  you  in  safety 
from  the  dangers  of  the  breakers !     I  will  do  what  I  can  for  you." 

This  consent  seemed  to  animate  young  Laud  with  most  fervent 
thankfulness,  and  his  elastic  spring  carried  him  over  every  stile  he 
came  to.  As  they  neared  the  village  of  Nacton  he  was  chatty  upon 
many  subjects,  but  more  especially  upon  the  object  of  his  journey. 
"I  never  was  at  a  christening  party,"  said  the  young  man; 
"whom  shall  we  meet  there,  father?" 

"  Your  relatives  on  the  mother's  side  are  all  poor,  William,  but 
honest  people.     I  have  long  promise  1  to  be  godfather  to  one  of  the 


20  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

Cracknells,  and  now  I  am  called  upon  to  make  good  my  promise. 
You  will  meet  their  friends  the  Catchpoles.  and  one  or  two  others. 
Perhaps  Margaret  Catchpole  may  be  there,  as  her  sister  Susan,  I 
hear,  will  never  be  likely  to  get  out  again." 

"  Margaret  Catchpole  !  Margaret  Catchpole  !  I  wonder  whether 
that  is  the  girl  whose  name  I  heard  so  much  about  two  years  ago. 
I  was  with  Captain  Bargood  at  the  Neptune,  near  the  quay,  as  all 
the  people  in  the  street  were  talking  about  a  spirited  girl  riding 
a  pony  full  speed  from  Nacton  to  Ipswich  for  the  doctor.  The 
name  I  heard  mentioned  was  the  same  you  speak  of." 

"  And  was  the  very  person  we  shall  perhaps  see  among  the  party 

to-day." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,  for  I  can  easily  conceive  she  must  be  an  enter- 
prising girl ;  I  shall  like  to  see  her  much.  She  must  be  very  young 
still." 

"  About  sixteen.  I  have  heard  that  she  is  a  very  respectable 
young  woman." 

Conversation  of  this  kind  served  to  entertain  the  youth  and  his 
father,  and  to  divert  the  current  of  their  thoughts  from  the  sea, 
until  they  arrived  at  Nacton  Street.  They  descended  that  ravine- 
looking  village,  and,  passing  the  blacksmith's  shop  at  the  bottom 
of  the  valley,  ascended  the  hill  near  Admiral  Vernon's,  passed  the 
church  towards  the  Ipswich  road,  and  arrived  at  Master  Cracknell's 
cottage.  The  ever-ready  Margaret  had  been  before  them  to  assist, 
and  had  made  herself  useful  in  many  ways.  The  humble  holiday 
party  consisted  of  the  Catchpoles,  father  and  two  sons, — the  two 
Calthorpes,  Stephen  and  William  Laud,  and  the  no  small  family  of 
the  Cracknells  ;  and  last,  not  least,  the  heroine  of  the  day,  Margaret 
Catchpole. 

The  cottage,  as  the  reader  may  suppose,  was  full  ;  but  welcome 
were  they  all  to  the  christening,  and  joyful  that  day  were  all  the 
party.  Between  the  young  men  and  Will  Laud  a  quick  intimacy 
commenced.  His  character  seemed  formed  for  a  holiday, — all 
buoyancy,  life,  and  animation  ;  he  could  at  one  time  have  his  fun 
with  the  children,  another  have  feats  of  bodily  strength  with  the 
young  men  ;  tell  a  good  story  for  the  old  people,  and  sing  a  good 
song  for  the  whole  party. 

Laud  was  greatly  prepossessed  in  Margaret's  favour  ;  he  had 
heard  much  of  her  at  Ipswich,  and  had  been  long  anxious  to  see 
her.     When  he  did  see  her,  she  more  than  answered  all  his  ex 


THE    HISTORV    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  2  1 

pectations.  He  thought  to  see  a  lively,  spirited  child,  with  whom 
he  might  joke  of  her  childish,  but  noble  act,  or  romp  ;  but  he 
beheld  a  very  respectable,  decent  young  woman,  who,  though 
active  and  intelligent,  was  far  from  having  any  childish  manners, 
lively,  agreeable,  and  unaffected,  with  a  quickness  and  spirit  well 
answering  to  his  own. 

As  for  Margaret,  such  a  bright  vision  of  pleasure  had  never 
before  entered  her  thoughts  or  heart,  as  stole  upon  her  that  day. 
In  short,  both  William  and  Margaret  may  be  said  to  have  imbibed 
a  partiality  for  each  other  on  this  day,  which  ripened  into  such 
an  attachment  as  has  seldom  been  recorded  among  all  the  host 
of  love-stories  which  fill  the  pages  of  romance.  But  these  pages 
record  no  romance  of  unreal  life  ;  they  tell  a  plain,  unvarnished 
tale,— a  tale  which,  having  been  continually  related  in  private 
circles,  is  now  given  to  the  world  at  large,  as  a  remarkable  series 
of  events  in 

"  The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor." 

The  merry  christening  passed  away,  and  the  friends  parted,  but 
not  for  a  long  period.  Charles  Catchpole,  who  had  been  mightily 
taken  with  young  Laud,  agreed  to  accompany  him  to  his  father's. 
They  all  left  the  cottage  of  Cracknel  1  together,  and  all  arrived  in 
safety  at  their  respective  homes  ;  but  not  without  Will  Laud 
having  walked  double  distance,  to  show  a  devotion  to  our  heroine 
which  he,  at  that  time,  most  sincerely  felt. 

But  they,  like  all  lovers  and  friends,  must  and  did  part.  Young 
William  had  a  long  and  agreeable  soliloquy  with  himself,  as  he 
traversed  again  that  road  by  night  which  he  had  gone  in  the 
morning  with  his  father.  How  different  the  current  of  his  thoughts  ! 
In  the  morning  he  was  all  raging  for  the  sea,  but  what  a  compara- 
tive calm  as  to  that  desired  object  now  ensued.  There  was  tumult 
stirring  of  another  kind,  which  seemed  to  engross  the  whole  of  his 
thoughts,  and  centre  them  upon  the  land,  not  upon  the  ocean. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  follow  this  youth  through  his  every  day's 
journey  to  and  from  Margaret's  cottage.  His  uncle  began  to  think 
that  his  father  had  succeeded  in  making  a  landsman  of  him  ;  for 
Time,  which  flies  swiftly  on  the  wings  of  Love  goes  slower  and  more 
mechanically  with  those  who  have  to  work  hard  every  day,  and 
whose  bread  depends  upon  the  sweat  of  their  brow. 

Charles  Catchpole,  though  he  caught  infection  from  the  roving 


2  2  THE   HISTORY    OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

spirit  of  young  Laud,  and  found  in  him  a  love  of  enterprise  which 
charmed  him,  did  not  seem  so  fond  of  the  sea  as  to  be  induced 
to  leave  for  it  his  more  peaceful  occupation.  The  young  men  were 
so  far  pleased  with  each  other,  because  Laud,  endeavoured  to 
entertain  Charles,  and  Charles  was  only  too  happy  to  be  so 
entertained.  Yet  the  young  landsman  wanted  to  know  more  of 
distant  countries  than  young  Laud,  who  had  only  been  a  coasting 
trader,  could  tell  him.  He  had  once,  indeed,  been  over  to  Holland, 
but  did  not  go  far  into  the  country  ;  so  that  all  the  information 
he  could  give  related  simply  to  the  sea-port  towns  on  the  coast. 

Whence  arose  this  inquiring  spirit  on  the  part  of  Charles  Catch- 
pole,  no  one  could  determine.  The  lad  had  once  expressed  a 
wish  to  be  a  soldier  ;  and  it  was  the  old  clerk  and  sexton  of 
the  parish  of  Nacton  who  used  to  read  and  explain  to  him  that 
there  were  strange  people  in  the  world ;  and  these  notions,  which 
had  for  some  time  slumbered,  seemed  to  be  awakened  by  young 
Laud's  company. 

Will  Laud  had  idle  time  to  spare,  and  he  devoted  a  great  portion 
of  it  to  Margaret,  and  was  a  constant  attendant  at  Nacton.  All 
the  family  knew  of  the  attachment,  and  it  wa3  no  secret  with  any 
neighbour  who  chanced  to  come  in,  all  of  whom  were  well  pleased 
with  Will  Laud,  and  congratulated  their  respective  friends  on  the 
future  happiness  of  the  young  people.  Even  the  master  and  mis- 
tress, for  whom  the  family  worked,  were  satisfied  with  appearances ; 
and  the  maids  at  the  farm,  who  had  never  quite  forgiven  Margaret 
for  her  good  offices,  were  not  a  little  jealous  at  the  early  pre- 
possession of  the  young  sailor  for  "the  girl,"  as  thc-y  called 
her. 

Poor  Susan,  the  sick  sister,  was  the  only  one  of  the  whole 
family  who  did  not  like  Will  Laud.  There  frequently  dwells  in 
the  sickliest  forms  the  purest  love.  Susan  felt  more  interested 
for  Margaret's  future  happiness  than  did  any  one  else  in  the 
family.  Through  all  that  weakness  of  body,  there  was  a  strength 
of  mind  and  of  judgment,  which  those  who  have  for  a  long  time 
had  the  prospect  of  dissolution  before  them  frequently  possess. 
She  looked  with  penetrating  eyes  upon  the  young  man.  She 
weighed  well  his  spirit,  listened  to  his  free  conversation,  and  formed 
her  idea  of  the  young  man's  character,  not  from  outward  appear- 
ance, but  from  the  tone  of  sentiment  which  came  from  his  heart. 
She  was  shocked  to  find  that  there  was,  through  all  his  attention* 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  23 

and  general  desire  to  please  every  one,  a  levity  of  expression  upon 
the  most  serious  subjects.  She  did  not  say  much  to  Margaret  upon 
this  point  ;  but  her  manner  towards  her  lover  was  colder,  and, 
in  some  measure,  more  repulsive  than  her  sister  liked.  It  is  said, 
that  "  we  can  always  tell  those  who  love  us."  It  is  equally  true 
"  that  we  can  always  tell  those  who  dislike  us." 

Poor  Susan  did  not  openly  rebuke  Will  Laud.  Yet  he  per- 
ceived she  did  not  approve  of  him,  and  said  to  Margaret— "  I  do 
not  think  your  sister  Susan  likes  me."  Why  should  he  think 
this  ?  He  had  never  heard  Susan  utter  a  word  of  rebuke  to  him. 
But  sometimes,  in  the  midst  of  his  wild  vagaries,  a  glance  of  that 
bright  eye  which  flashed,  searching  into  hi3  spirit,  would  make 
the  young  sailor  pause  and  finish  his  story  in  a  tamer  way  than 
he  intended.  Susan'3  affectionate  disposition  would  not  allow 
her,  in  that  apparently  happy  period  of  the  two  lovers'  intercourse, 
to  speak  anything  harshly,  but  the  more  than  usual  warmth  cf 
her  interest  was  not  to  be  mistaken.  That  pressure  of  the  hand  ; 
that  kiss,  with  a  starting  tear  in  the  eye  ;  that  hope  expressed 
that  she  might  be  happy,  though  a  fixed  fearf  ulness  of  doubt  seemed 
to  hover  over  her  mind,  whilst  she  so  often  'prayed  for  her  sister, 
made  Margaret  almost  tremble,  as  if  Susan  foreboded  evil. 

"  Dear  sister,"  said  Margaret  to  her  one  day  ;   "  dear  sister,  you 

look  so  gloomily  on  my  lover  and  me  !  " 

"  Xo,  Margaret.     I  look  only  with  love  upon  you,  and  am  only, 

perhaps,  too  anxious  for  your  future  happine33.     I  am  not  gloomy. 

I  love  you  so  dearly,  Margaret,  that  I  pray  that  you  may  live  in 

happiness  all  your  day3.     I  do  not  like  to  lo3e  any  of  your  love." 
"  Nor  I  any  of  yours,  dear  Susan  ;  but  sometimes  I  fear  I  either 

have  so  done,  or  may  so  do.     Laud  fancies  you  do  not  like  him." 
"It  is  only  that  I  love  you  so  dearly,  that  if  any  one  loves  you 

less  than  I  do.  it  makes  me  feel  unhappy.     I  like  Laud  very  well 

as  a  visitor,  and  he  appears  very  fond  of  you,  Margaret  ;  but  he 

seems  to  me  to  think  too  much  of  himself  to  be  exactly  what  I 

wish  him  to  be,  for  your  sake." 

"  May  you  not  be  mistaken,  Susan  ?     I  am  very  young,  and  it 

must  be  years  before  we  marry.     Do  not  you  think  he  may  be 

likely  to  improve  with  his  years  1  " 

"  I   should   have   thought   so,  had   I  not  observed  that  vanity 

prompts  him  to  boast  of  his  own  successes  over  his  uncle  and  his 

father.     He  has  got  his  own  will  of  both,  and  appears  to  me  to 


24  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

forget  the  sacrifices  they  have  made  for  his  humour,  which  he 
fancies  to  be  for  his  benefit.  But  I  do  not  speak  against  him, 
Margaret.     I  only  wish  him  all  that  can  be  good,  for  your  sake." 

This  conversation  might  have  extended  much  farther  but  for 
the  entrance  of  Laud,  who  came  rather  in  haste  to  say  that  he 
was  sent  for  by  Captain  Bargood  to  Felixstow  Ferry.  He  had 
been  into  the  field  with  young  Charles  Catchpole,  and  a  sailor 
brought  to  him  an  urgent  and  special  message  that  he  would  come 
to  the  captain,  as  ho  wished  to  see  him  upon  very  particular 
business. 

"Margaret,"  he  said,  "  I  must  take  my  leave  of  you  for  a  short 
time.  I  suspect  the  captain  wants  me  to  go  a  voyage  ;  but  it  will 
not  be  a  long  one.  I  am  assured  of  good  pay,  in  a  share,  probably, 
of  his  profits,  without  having  to  sustain  the  risk  of  loss." 

Whatever  present  grief  Margaret  might  feel  at  the  departure 
of  her  betrothed,  she  did  not  give  way  to  any  deep  lamentation. 
She  knew  that  Laud  must  work  for  his  living,  as  well  as  she  for  hers, 
but  she  did  not  despair  of  success ;  they  were  both  young,  both 
enjoying  health  and  strength.  Regret  she  might  feel,  but  Hope 
was  ever  the  bright  beacon  of  Margaret's  days.  She  could  only 
express  her  hope  that  they  might  soon  meet  again  ;  and  as  her 
father  and  brothers  came  in  from  their  labour,  Laud  shook  them 
all  by  the  hand,  told  them  he  was  going  again  to  sea,  and  wished 
them  "  all  health  and  hearty  cheer." 

It  was  with  much  regret  that  the  old  man  and  his  sons  found 
that  Laud  must  leave  them,  and  their  honest  nature  failed  not 
in  expressing  every  good  wish  for  a  pleasant  voyage.  Laud  turned 
to  the  sick-bed  upon  which  poor  Susan  lay,  and  approached  to 
bid  her  good-bye.  He  was  surprised  to  see  her  in  tears,  and  greatly 
agitated  :  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  the  bed-clothes  shook  with  such 
a  tremulous  motion,  that  they  showed  the  extent  of  her  agitation. 

"  Good-bye,  Susan,"  said  Laud,  and  extended  his  hand. 

Susan  turned  her  piercing  eye  upon  him,  took  his  warm  hand  in 
her  cold,  transparent,  bloodless  fingers,  and  with  great  effort  spoke 
to  him. 

"  William,  I  want  to  say  a  word  before  you  go."  Here  she 
paused  to  take  breath,  and  every  one  who  loved  her  crowded  round 
her  bed.  "  I  have  observed,  William,  much  in  your  character  that 
requires  alteration,  before  you  can  either  be  happy  yourself  or  can 
make  my  sister  so.     You  have  a  lightness  of  thought,  which  you  do 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  25 

not  blush  to  express,  -which  appears  to  me  bordering  upon  infi- 
delity. There  is  a  God,  William,  Who  observes  us  all,  and  knows 
every  secret  of  our  hearts,  and  in  His  sight  piety,  parental  love, 
and  duty,  are  qualities  which  meet  His  approbation,  and  the  con- 
trary provoke  His  displeasure.  I  have  observed  with  pain  that  you 
sometimes  speak  with  levity  of  those  whom  you  ought  to  love. 
You  may  not  intend  to  be  wicked,  but  your  language,  with  respect 
to  the  guardians  of  your  youth,  is  not  good.  You  will  forgive 
my  speaking  my  mind  to  you  now,  as  I  am  sure  I  shall  never  see 
you  again  in  this  world  :  but  if  ever  we  do  meet  in  another  and 
a  better  world,  you  must  alter  greatly  in  the  sentiments  of  your 
heart.  We  shall  never  meet  if  you  do  not.  You  want  steadiness 
of  principle  and  finmness  of  purpose.  You  may  lead  those  who 
look  up  to  you  ;  but  I  can  see  that  you  may  be  very  easily  led  by 
others,  who  have  only  to  exercise  determination,  and  they  may 
tempt  you  to  anything.  You  want,  I  repeat  it,  steadiness  of  prin- 
ciple and  stability  of  purpose.  I  love  my  dear  sister,  and  I  can 
foresee  that  you  will  make  her  very  unhappy  if  you  do  not  alter 
in  this  respect.  Take  what  I  say  in  good  part,  and  forget  it  not. 
I  can  only  pray  for  your  welfare.  If  ever  you  are  unkind  to 
Margaret,  you  and  I  shall  never  meet  in  another  world.  Good-bye, 
William,  good-by**  ' " 

The  effort  had  been  too  much  for  her  weak  state,  and  she  sank 
back  exhausted,  biding  her  tears  upon  her  pillow. 

Youth  and  health  do  not  dwell  long  upon  the  words  of  sickness, 
though  love  cannot  fail  to  produce  a  powerful  effect  for  the  time. 
Laud  returned  to  Felixstow,  leaving  our  cottagers  to  lament  his 
departure,  and  Margaret  to  the  exercise  of  those  duties  to  which 
her  nature  and  inclination  made  her  then,  and  ever  after,  so  well 
adapted— the  nursing  of  an  invalid.  Had  she  not  had  these  duties 
to  perform,  she  might  have  felt  more  keenly  the  loss  of  her  lover. 
She  was  never  of  a  desponding  disposition.  She  knew  that  Laud 
must  work  hard  ;  and  she  hoped  that  his  love  for  her  would  make 
him  prudent  and  careful,  though  it  might  be  years  before  they  both 
saved  a  sufficiency  to  furnish  a  cottage. 

Her  duties  to  poor  Susan  became  every  day  more  urgent,  for 
every  day  seemed  to  bring  her  slowly  to  her  end.  Her  attentions 
to  this  sick  sister  were  of  the  gentlest  and  most  affectionate  kind. 
Softly,  gently,  noiselessly,  she  made  every  one  go  in  and  out  of 
the  apartment.     Susan  wished  that  all  whom  she  knew  and  loved 


26  THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

should  pray  with  her,  and  her  good  mistress  frequently  came  up 
from  the  farm  to  read  to  her.  Oh,  how  eagerly  does  the  mind  of 
the  sufferer  devour  the  word  of  God  !— the  more  humble,  the  more 
sweet  that  precious  fruit  to  the  palate  of  the  sick  !  How  does  she 
desire  more  and  more  of  the  living  waters  of  life,  and  lift  her  eyes 
to  Heaven,  and  turn  them  in  upon  her  heart,  to  see  whence  her 
help  might  come  ! 

Poor  Susan  had  been  too  long  a  sufferer  not  to  have  learned 
the  duties  of  patience  ;  she  had  too  humble  a  spirit  to  think  any- 
thing of  herself  ;  but  when  she  thought  of  her  father,  mother, 
brothers,  and  sister,  her  whole  soul  seemed  absorbed  in  their 
present  and  future  welfare. 

Oh !  what  instructive  lessons  may  be  learned  at  the  sick-bed  ! 
How  wise  are  the  reflections  then  made  upon  life  and  immortality  ! 
Could  men  only  be  as  wise  at  all  hours,  how  happy  might  they  be  ! 

But  Susan's  hours  were  numbered,  and  her  end  drew  nigh. 
Scarcely  three  weeks  after  the  departure  of  Laud,  she  was  called 
away  ;  but  her  end  wras  so  characteristic  of  piety  and  love,  that, 
despite  of  the  impatience  of  the  hasty  reader,  it  must  be  recorded. 
On  Saturday,  the  24th  of  June,  not  long  before  the  family  were 
about  to  retire  to  rest,  Susan  said  to  Margaret,  "Lift  me  up,  dear, 
lift  me  up — I  feel  myself  going."  As  might  be  expected,  a  word  of 
this  sort  called  them  all  around  her.  The  poor,  weak,  wasted, 
emaciated  girl,  with  an  eye  as  brilliant  as  the  purest  crystal,  and 
a  countenance  expressive  of  the  calm  spirit  within,  looked  upon  the 
mother  bathing  her  thin  hand  with  tears,  and  the  affectionate 
father  and  brothers  a  little  more  composed,  but  not  less  afflicted. 
Edward,  the  youngest,  knelt  close  by  her  side  ;  whilst  the  affec- 
tionate Margaret,  with  her  arm  and  part  of  her  chest  supporting 
the  raised  pillow,  against  which  the  sufferer  leant,  held  with  her  left 
hand  the  other  transparent  one  of  her  dying  sister. 

Who  shall  paint  the  silver  locks  of  age,  and  that  calm  eye, 
watching  the  waning  light  of  a  dear  daughter's  life  ?  "  Let  us 
pray,"  said  the  dying  girl ;  "let  us  pray."  Around  that  bed  knelt 
six  of  her  relatives,  and  in  deep  humility  heard  Susan's  prayer  for 
them  all,  whilst  they  could  only  answer,  with  a  sob,  "God  bless 
you !  " 

But  now  came  an  effort,  which  seemed  to  agitate  the  sufferer 
beyond  all  former  exertions  :  the  clothes  around  her  poor  chest 
seemed  to  shake  with  excess  of  emotion,  as,  with  a  most  earnest 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  27 

and  impressive  look,  she  half  turned  herself  round,  and  uttered  the 
name  of  her  sister. 

*'  Margaret,"  she  said,  "  Margaret,  you  will  never  marry  William 
Laud — he  will  cause  you  all  much  sorrow  ;  but  do  not  forsake  the 
right  and  honest  path,  and  you  will  find  peace  at  the  last.  Margaret, 
my  dear  sister,  never  suffer  him  to  lead  you  astray  !  Promise  me, 
promise  me  never  to  be  his,  except  he  marry  you  amidst  your 
friends." 

"  I  never  will,  dear  Susan — I  never  will." 

"  Bless  you  !  God  bless  you  all  !  "  And  with  one  look  up,  as 
if  she  would  pierce  the  skies,  she  raised  both  her  hands  to  heaven, 
and  said,  "0  blessed  Saviour!"  and  with  those  words  her  spirit 
took  its  flight  to  eternity. 

What  a  thrill,  a  holy  thrill,  ran  through  the  hearts  of  all,  as 
they  witnessed  this  solemn  but  cheerful  end  of  her  they  so  dearly 
loved  !  That  night  was,  indeed,  one  of  serious  reflection  among 
them  all:  they  thought  and  talked  of  her,  and  blessed  her,  and 
resolved  to  follow  her  advice,  and  keep  the  honest  path. 


CHAPTER  n. 

THE      TEMPTATION. 


Laud  reached  Fel'xstow  Ferry  :  he  had  seen  hi3  parent,  and  then 
went  to  the  shore  to  meet  the  captain.  There  they  stand  under 
the  cliff,  by  the  shore,  opposite  the  harbour  and  town  of  Harwich, 
whilst  the  light  gleams  upon  the  distant  beacon  of  Walton-on-the- 
Naze.  There  is  a  boat  a  short  distance  on  the  calm  wave,  and 
not  far  ahead  a  brig  is  seen  standing  off  and  on.  The  captain  is 
pointing  to  the  brig,  and  seems  very  earnest  in  his  conversation  ; 
whilst  a  sort  of  cool  composure  is  settled  upon  the  firm  attitude 
of  Will  Laud,  as  he  listens  and  seems  to  remain  immovable. 

Oh  !  would  that  he  had  so  remained  !  Many  an  after-pang, 
which  the  birth  of  that  day's  sorrow  occasioned,  would  have  been 
spired. 

"  Well,  Laud,  I  make  you  a  fair  offer,"  said  this  artful  captain  ; 
"1  make  you  a  fair  offer  of  the  command  of  the  brig  :  there  she 
is,  as  tight  a  vessel  as  ever  cut  a  wave.     I  will  venture  to  say, 


28  THE   HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

that  when  you  helped  to  lay  her  keel  with  Turner,  you  little 
dreamt  of  commanding  on  board  of  her." 

" I  have  no  objection  to  the  craft,  captain;  but  I  do  not  like  the 
job." 

"No  :  I  suppose  you  would  like  to  live  at  home  along  with  the 
old  ferryman,  your  father ;  or,  perhaps,  knock  away  at  boat-building 
on  the  Aide.  Pshaw,  Will,  pshaw  !  this  is  a  tame  kind  of  life.  I 
took  you  for  a  fellow  of  more  spirit,  or  I  never  should  have 
taken  you  for  my  messmate." 

"  When  you  took  me  for  such,  you  took  me  as  an  honest  man, 
and  all  your  dealings  were  aboveboard.  Now  you  want  to  make 
me  a  smuggler.  This  is  the  work,  captain,  T  do  not  like.  My 
father  is  an  honest  man,  and  under  Government — why  should  I 
bring  disgrace  upon  him  ?  " 

"And  does  it  follow,  Will,  that  I  am  what  you  call  a  smuggler, 
because  I  do  a  little  in  a  free  trade?  Where's  the  disgrace  you 
speak  of  ? — and  who  is  to  bring  it  upon  us  ?  Come,  Will,  there  are 
two  sides  of  a  question,  and  we  may  hit  upon  the  right  as  well 
as  the  wrong." 

"  But  we  shall  be  cheating  the  Government  of  our  country." 

"  As  to  that,  Will,  look  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  and  see 
if  they  do  not  all  do  so  as  long  as  they  can  with  impunity." 

"  I  do  not  see  that." 

"No,  Will,  no;  because  you  shut  your  eyes.  But  who  pays 
more  tax  than  he  can  help,  or  as  much  as  is  strictly  due,  either  for 
his  horses,  servants,  powder,  malt,  hops,  windows,  silk,  woollen,  or 
any  commodity  whatever,  upon  which  a  wholesale  tax  is  imposed 
for  the  good  of  the  country  ?  Don't  talk,  then,  of  cheating  Govern- 
ment. I  call  mine  only  a  little  free  trade  ;  and  if  I  choose  to 
employ  a  few  free  hands  and  pay  them  well,  what  is  that  to  any- 
body?" 

"You  may  employ  them  with  more  freedom  in  an  honest  way, 
than  running  such  risk  of  life,  liberty,  and  property,  as  you  do. 
I  almost  as  much  grieve  that  I  ever  knew  you,  captain,  as  I  do  now 
at  being  compelled  to  leave  your  service.  I  have  been  obliged  to 
you  hitherto,  but  you  want  now  to  lay  me  under  an  obligation 
to  which  I  have  no  stomach." 

"This  is  only  since  you  came  to  the  ferry,  and  went  to  the 
christening.  Go  back,  my  boy,  go  back  and  turn  ploughman.  You 
will  like  that  better  than  ploughing  the  waves.     You  will  only  be, 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  29 

after  all,  a  lubberly  landsman.  But  I  must  hail  my  fellows,  and  be 
oft'.  What  a  pity  such  a  brig  should  go  a-begging  for  a  captain  ! 
Your  own  work,  too,  Will.  "Well,  well,  I  did  not  think  you  such 
a  fool.  Here,  with  a  silver  spoon  in  your  mouth,  you  would  throw 
it  away,  and  take  up  with  a  wooden  one.  Go,  eat  your  bread 
sopped  in  warm  water,  in  a  wooden  bowl,  and  leave  your  old  mess- 
mates and  friends  to  good  fare,  an  active  life,  and  cheerful  company. 
Good-bye,  Will ;  good-bye." 

And  the  captain  turned  round  to  give  the  signal  to  his  boatmen 
to  pull  to  shore  ;  but  without  the  least  intention  of  giving  up  his 
prey.  It  was  only  as  a  cat  would  pretend  to  let  her  victim  escape 
to  a  little  distance,  under  the  idea  of  having  more  play. 

"Go  to  your  girl,  boy  ;  go  to  your  girl,"  said  he,  as  he  took  a 
step  toward  the  beach.  "  She  will  be  glad  to  see  you  without  em- 
ployment, and  sick  of  the  sea  for  her  sake." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  captain,  my  girl's  an  honest  one,  and  if  you 
were  to  make  her  a  disloyal  offer,  she  would  be  the  first  to  heave 
up  her  anchor,  or  cut  her  cable,  and  haul  to  windward  and  be  off." 
"I  don't  make  her  any  offer  ;  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  any  of 
her  sex,  and  the  less  you  have  to  do  with  them  the  better,  Will. 
But  if  you  must  have  her  in  your  eye,  why  not  for  her  sake  try  to 
get  a  comfortable  berth  for  her  ?  In  a  very  short  time,  you  will  be 
able  to  secure  enough  to  make  her  happy.  After  a  few  runs,  you 
may  have  a  snug  cot,  near  this  very  cove,  and  be  as  comfortable  as 
you  wish  to  be.  But  if  you  have  made  up  your  mind,  and  are 
determined  not  to  accept  my  offer,  why  then  I  must  find  another 
who  will ;  and  I  warrant,  that  I  need  not  go  far  before  I  meet  with 
one  who  will  jump  at  the  chance." 

"I  say,  captain,  how  many  voyages  shall  I  go,  before  that  time 
comes  you  speak  of  ?  " 

"  That  depends  upon  our  luck.  The  quicker  work  we  make,  the 
sooner  we  shall  keep  our  harbour.  One  year,  perhaps  two.  At 
all  events,  three,  and  your  berth  is  sure." 

"  Well,  captain,  but  how  shall  it  be  for  share  ?  " 
"  Why,  there's  the  brig,  and  look  ye,  Will,  she's  all  right  and 
tight,  and  everything  well  provided  aboard  her.  She  is  under  your 
command  ;  your  first  trip  to  Holland  ;  your  cargo,  gin ;  and  as  to 
other  goods,  snuff,  tobacco,  linen,  and  such  things,  I  let  you  barter 
with  for  yourself.  Only  secure  me  the  main  chance.  As  to  risk, 
that's  all  mine.     You  shall  receive,  say  one-sixth  of  the  profit  for 


30  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

the  first  year,  one-tliird  for  the  second ;  and  an  equal  share  after. 
Now,  my  boy,  but  that  I  know  your  pluck,  and  your  tact,  I  should 
never  make  you  such  an  offer.  There  you  have  it." 
"  Captain,  I'm  your  man  ! — I'm  your  man  !  " 
And  so  he  sold  himself  to  as  artful,  desperate,  and  bold  a  rover, 
as  ever  crossed  the  Channel.  How  true  were  poor  Susan's  last 
words  to  him — "  You  want  steadiness  of  principle  and  stability  of 
purpose  ! "  From  that  hour,  Will  entered  upon  a  course  of  life 
which  led  to  his  own  ruin,  and  the  ruin  of  others.  He  was  caught 
in  the  toils  of  a  smuggler,  from  which,  though  he  once  escaped, 
he  never  had  sufficient  stability  to  entirely  emancipate  him- 
self. 

Captain  Bargood,  to  whom  Will  thus  sold  himself,  was  a  clever 
as  well  as  a  desperate  adventurer.  He  contrived  to  keep  up  ap- 
pearances as  a  steady  trader,  and  had  vessels  as  regularly  chartered 
as  any  of  England's  noblest  merchants.  His  sails  visited  with  proper 
invoices  all  the  ports  along  the  coast,  and  he  had  connections  in 
every  town  of  the  first  class  of  dealers.  Yet  this  man  managed 
withal  to  have  an  under-current  in  the  contraband  trade,  which 
paid  him   far  greater  profits  than  his  regular  account. 

So  well  did  he  arrange  his  plans,  that  if  a  vessel  of  his  was  taken 
by  the  coast-guard,  he  had  always  a  captain  or  a  mate  to  father 
her,  and  as  he  always  paid  them  well,  his  own  fair  fame  was  sus- 
pected by  none  but  those  who  occasionally  bought  goods  of  him 
at  a  price   so   far  below   the  market,  that  they  were  content   to 
let  their  suspicions  subside  in  their  own  profits.     He  was  a  good 
judge  of   men,   both   of   sailors,    landsmen,    gentry,    and    men   of 
business.     He  knew  how  far  to  trust  them,  and  how  soon  to  shorten 
his  sail.     His  ships,  captains,  and  crews,  were  as  well  known  to 
him  as  anything  in  his  own  unostentatious  cottages  at  Aldborough, 
Ilollesley,  Harwich,  or  Ipswich  ;  in  which  he  occasionally  took  up 
his  abode,  as  business  or  inclination  prompted.     But  he  equally 
well  knew  Will  Laud,  and  foresaw  in  him  the  very  commander  who 
should  bring  him  in  many  a  good  -prize  in  the  shape  of  spirits  or 
tobacco,  furs  or  linen.     He  cared  for  no  man's  success  but  his  own. 
He  could  be  rough,  smooth,  hot,  or  cool,  just  as  he  thought  best 
to  gain  his  end.     Money  was  his  idol,  and,  as  a  quick  return  and 
enormous  profit  for  a  small  outlay,  the  smuggler's  trade  seemed 
to  him   the   most  promising.      Laud   would,    and   as   the   sequel 
will  show,  did  prove  a  valuable  servant  or  slave   to  him.      This 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  3 1 

man  outlived  every  one  of  his  captains,  and  died  about  four  years 
ago  :  namely,  in  the  year  1841. 

Cut  the  young  sailor  is  arm-in-arm  with  the  captain,  the  boat  is 
hailed,  the  crew,  four  oars  and  a  steersman,  approach  the  shore,  and 
the  captain  calls  out — 

"  Now,  Jack,  high  and  diy  for  your  new  commander  !  " 

The  boat  grounds,  and  Laud  and  his  future  master  are  seated  in 
the  stern. 

"Long  time  bringing-to,  captain?"  said  the  gruff  and  surly- 
looking  John  Luff,  a  fellow  who  seemed  formed  of  such  materials 
as  compose  a  cannon-ball.  He  looked  like  what  he  was,  an  iron- 
hearted  and  iron-fisted  desperado,  whose  only  pleasure  was  to  serve 
a  bad  man,  and  to  rule  every  one  in  the  ship  who  had  a  little  more 
feeling  than  himself. 

They  were  soon  on  board  the  brig,  and  Laud  was  duly  introduced 
to  the  crew,  and  appointed  their  captain. 

"Yes,  master,  yes/'  said  the  mate,  "we  understand.  You  need 
not  spin  us  a  long  yarn  ;  business,  say  I,  and  the  sooner  the  better. 
I  will  take  care  of  him,  trust  me.  He's  a  smart  boy.  He'll  do, 
captain,  he'll  do." 

The  mate,  John  Luff,  and  the  master,  seemed  to  understand 
each  other.  The  captain  shook  hands  with  Laud,  and  bidding  him 
take  care  of  his  own  craft,  he  left  them  outward  bound,  and  came 
ashore  at  Woodbridge  Haven. 

Let  it  suffice,  for  the  reader's  information,  that  Laud  was  success- 
ful in  his  new  career.  He  made  his  voyage  pay  well,  and  contrived 
to  send  some  handsome  presents  to  Margaret,  too  handsome  to  be 
acceptable.  Alas  !  how  little  did  that  desperate  youth  think  that 
he  was  giving  pain  instead  of  pleasure  to  all  those  who  had  any 
interest  in  his  welfare  !  How  little  did  he  think  he  was  laying  the 
foundation  of  misery  and  woe  to  his  father,  to  the  Catchpoles,  to  i 
the  Cracknells,  and  to  every  one  who  knew  him  ! 

His  first  present  was  received  by  Margaret  at  a  time  when  the 
heart  of  a  true  lover  is  most  open  to  the  kind  acts  of  friendship. 
Poor  Margaret  and  the  family  had  just  returned  from  the  funeral 
of  Susan,  and  were  seated  in  the  cottage,  talking  over  the  good 
qualities  of  their  dear  departed  and  beloved  friend.  Her  sayings 
and  doings,  her  affectionate  advice,  her  patience  and  resignation, 
were  all  topics  of  conversation,  and  each  had  some  kind  act  to 
record,    not   one  a  single    fault    to   mention.     One  or  two  of  the 


3  2.  THE    HISTORY    OF   MARGARET    CATCH  POLE. 

Cracknells,  and  a  workman  or  two  on  the  farm,  who  helped  to 
carry  the  corpse,  were  all  of  the  party  who  were  not  relatives.  The 
good  mother  had  prepared  the  mournful  meal,  some  cake,  bread 
and  butter,  a  cup  of  tea,  and  a  pint  of  beer  each  for  the  men. 
They  were  partaking  of  this  humble  meal  in  a  very  subdued  and 
quiet  spirit,  as  there  came  a  rap  at  the  door,  and  young  Edward 
opened  it. 

"  Come  in,"  said  the  father,  and  in  walked  a  weather-beaten  man, 
who  from  his  drc3S  might  be  taken  for  some  honest  ploughman, 
but  whose  countenance  betrayed  a  very  different  expression — none 
of  that  openness  and  simplicity  which  good  labourers  and  country- 
men wear,  but  a  shaggy  brow,  and  matted  thick  black  hair.  His 
eyebrows  half  covered  the  sockets  of  his  eyes,  which  peeped  from 
under  them  with  an  inquisitive  glance,  to  see  if  all  was  safe. 

"  Does  one  Margaret  Catchpole  live  here  1 "  said  the  man. 

"  Yes,  she  does,"  was  Margaret's  quick  reply ;  "  what  do  you 
want  with  her  1     I  am  she." 

"  Oh  !  you  be  she,  be  you  ?  Then  I  be  commissioned  to  deliver 
this  here  parcel  into  your  hands  ;  "  and,  easing  his  shoulder  of  a 
heavy  bale  of  goods,  they  came  with  some  weight  upon  the  chair 
which  Edward  had  vacated  for  the  guest. 

"From  whom  does  this  come  1 "  said  she. 

"  I  don't  know  who  he  is.  I  was  at  work  on  the  marshes  at 
Bawdsey  Ferry  when  a  young  sailor  came  up  to  me,  and  asked 
me  if  I  knew  where  Nacton  was.  I  told  him  I  knew  whereabouts 
it  was.  He  then  asked  me  if  I  would  take  this  here  bundle  to 
one  Margaret  Catchpole,  a  labourer's  daughter,  living,  as  he 
described,   in  just  this  place,  which  I  have  found." 

"  Did  he  give  his  name  1 " 

"No;  he  said  he  couldn't  come  himself,  but  that  this  would 
remind  you  of  him." 

All  immediately  concluded  who  he  was,  and  Margaret  asked 
Edward  to  bring  the  packet  into  the  sleeping-room,  whilst  the 
countryman  was  asked  to  sit  down  and  take  a  draught  of  beer. 

The  parcel  was  unpacked.  There  were  silks  and  shawls,  caps 
and  lace,  ribands  arid  stuffs,  and  gloves  ;  parcels  of  tea,  coffee, 
tobacco,  and  snuff ;  together  with  curious-headed  and  silver-tipped 
pipes  ;  in  short,  enough  to  stock  a  small-shop.  But  there  was 
nothing  to  give  pleasure  to  Margaret.  That  poor  girl's  heart  sank 
within  her  at  a  sight  which  she   at  once  perceived  was  far  too* 


THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  33 

costly  to  be  honestly  procured.  She  called  to  Edward  to  assist 
her  in  tying  up  the  bale  again,  and  removing  it  into  the  room 
where  the  pretended  countryman  was  seated.  As  she  entered,  the 
fellow  roughly  accosted  her — 

"  Well  !  you  find  summut  there,  I  dare  say,  to  tempt  you  soon 
^o  put  aside  these  dark-looking  dresses  which  you  all  wear.  I 
must  be  going  :  can  I  take  anything  back  for  you  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Margaret — "yes;  you  may  take  the  whole  bundle 
back  the  same  way  you  brought  it,  and  tell  the  young  man  who 
gave  it  you  that  I  should  have  valued  one  single  pair  of  honestly 
purchased  gloves  more  than  all  the  valuables  he  has  sent  me." 

There  was  a  twinkle  of  that  small  grey  eye,  and  a  twitch  of  the 
muscles  of  that  sun-burnt  face,  which  showed  that  even  the  hardy, 
rough-looking  countryman  was  startled  at  such  an  honest  spirit  as 
then  addressed  him.  This  person  was  none  other  than  John  Luff, 
the  mate  of  the  Aide,  who  had  undertaken  to  perform  this  duty  for 
Captain  Laud,  from  a  motive,  without  much  love  in  it,  simply 
because  he  feared  that  the  captain  might  be  persuaded  by  his  girl 
to  leave  off  a  smugglers  life.  He  saw  in  an  instant  that  such 
would  have  been  the  case,  had  young  Laud  come  with  him,  or 
brought  the  load  himself.  He  had  assumed  the  countryman's  dress 
to  avoid  any  notice  from  the  coast-guard,  and,  until  he  came  to  the 
lane  leading  to  the  farm,  he  had  brought  the  bale  of  goods  in  a  sack 
slung  over  his  shoulder,  as  if  it  were  corn,  or  chaff,  or  flour.  He 
was  not  very  easily  put  out,   nor  long  in  giving  his  answer. 

"No,  young  woman,  I  have  had  lug  enough  to  bring  it  here,  and 
I  got  a  crown  for  my  job  ;  mayhap,  if  I  were  to  take  it  back  to  the 
youngster,  I  might  lose  half  my  crown,  and  so  be  paid  for  my 
trouble.  I'm  not  fond  of  broken  heads  for  a  love-ditty.  You 
may  find  some  one  else  to  take  it  back  :  I've  done  my  duty." 

"  No,  you  have  not,"  said  Margaret  ;  "  you  are  no  landsman,  1 
a,m  sure  :  your  duty  is  not  that  of  an  honest  labourer.  1  ou 
are — I  am  sure  you  are — connected  with  the  smugglers  on  the  coast. 
You  may  take  this  parcel  for  yourself.  I  give  it  to  you,  to  do  what 
you  like  with  :  but  do  tell  the  young  man,  when  you  see  him, 
that  I  hate  his  presents,  though  not  himself." 

"I  won't  have  anything  to  do  with  what's  not  my  own,"  said 
the  man,  "  although  you  tell  me  I'm  not  an  honest  man.  I'm  off. 
I  was  to  meet  the  young  chap  again  to-morrow  at  the  same  time 
and  place.     If  you  had  any  small  love-token  now,  or  any  words 


34  THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

which  might  not  anger  the  young  fellow,  why,  I  shouldn't  mind 
taking  'em ;  but  if  you  haven't  any,  why  then  I'll  tell  him  you 
didn't  care  anything  about  him  or  his  present.  So,  good-bye  to 
you." 

The  fellow  took  up  his  hat  and  stick  to  depart. 

"  Hold  !  "  said  Margaret—4'  hold  !  "  and  taking  her  father's  hat 
down  from  its  peg,  she  tore  off  the  crape,  and  folding  it  up,  she 
approached  the  disguised  seaman,  saying — "Give  him  this — do 
give  him  this— and  tell  him,  I'd  rather  we  all  wore  the  like  for 
him,  than  the  rich  things  he  has  sent  us.  Will  you  tell  him 
this?" 

"  No  doubt  he'll  be  much  obliged  to  you  ;  but  you  won't  be  long 
in  this  mind.  So,  good-bye  to  you  all."  And  the  man  departed, 
leaving  that  spirited  girl  to  think  with  pain  of  the  dreaded  words 
of  Susan—*'  Margaret,  you  will  never  marry  William  Laud  I " 


CHAPTER  III. 

MISFORTUNES. 

Well  would  it  have  been  for  the  Catch  poles  and  the  Cracknells 
had  they  burnt  every  bit  of  valuable  stuff  which  the  smuggler  had 
that  day  brought.  What  years  of  anguish  would  it  have  spared 
them  !— what  miseries  !  what  agonies  !  Nothing  unlawful  can  long 
prosper.  Sorrow  and  bitterness  follow  the  days  of  unjust  gain, 
and  whosoever  thinks  to  be  happy  by  the  sudden  influx  of  ill-gotten 
wealth,  will  find  himself  grievously  mistaken.  Wealth  gotten  by 
honest  industry  and  fair  dealing  may  enable  a  good  man  to  soothe 
the  sufferings  of  others,  but  even  when  obtained,  men  find  that  it 
is  not  the  being  rich,  but  the  regular  employment  in  a  prosperous 
line  of  life,  that  gives  the  pleasure.  Sudden  prosperity  is  too  often 
destructive  of  a  man's  peace  of  mind  ;  but  sudden  prosperity,  by 
evil  means,  is  sure  to  bring  its  own  ruin.  Had  but  that  first  bale 
of  goods  been  burnt,  Margaret  might  have  continued  the  happy, 
cheerful  child  of  Nature,  respected  and  received  as  the  honest, 
good-hearted  girl,  she  really  was. 

It  may  fairly  be  said  of  Margaret,  that  she  had  no  covetous 
hankering  after  any  of  the  goods  which  were  that  day  presented 
to  her  eye.     She  told  all  her  friends  what  they  were,  and  consulted 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  35 

with  them  what  should  be  done  with  them.  She  would  have  given 
them  up  to  the  government  officers,  but  she  saw  that  it  would  in- 
volve her  lover.  She  would  have  sent  them  to  Laud's  father,  but 
again  the  idea  of  causing  him  distress  deterred  her.  Oh  !  that  she 
had  cast  them  upon  the  broad  sea,  and  let  who  would  have  caught 
them  !  But  they  were  goodly  things  to  look  upon  ;  they  were 
costly — too  good  to  throw  away.  And  as  Mrs.  Cracknel!  said  they 
might  all  be  serviceable,  and  it  was  a  sin  to  waste  them,  she  per- 
suaded Margaret  to  let  her  have  them. 

"  Let  my  good  man  take  them  home  ;  we  may  by  degrees  get 
rid  of  them.  I  can  do  the  smaller  packages  up  in  smaller  parcels, 
in  my  way  ;  and  as  to  the  silks  and  lace,  I  can  find  perhaps  a 
distant  customer  to  take  them  off  my  hands." 

"  You  may  do  what  you  like  with  them,"  said  Margaret,  "only 
do  not  let  me  know  anything  more  about  them." 

"You  know,  Mr.  Catchpole,"  said  Mrs.  Cracknell,  "that  we  may 
all  want  a  little  help  one  day,  and  these  things  may  provide  against 
a  stormy  hour.  At  all  events,  you  shall  lose  nothing  by  them, 
though  they  now  bring  you  no  profit." 

It  did  not  take  much  time  to  persuade  these  simple-minded 
people  to  part  with  things  for  which  they  had  no  demand  and  no 
taste. 

Mrs.  Cracknell  had  them  conveyed  to  her  cottage,  where  she  had 
them  sorted  out,  and,  as  prudently  as  possible,  disposed  of  them 
according  to  the  means  of  her  humbler  customers. 

After  a  time,  she  found  herself  gradually  improving  in  circum- 
stances, and,  had  she  been  content,  might  have  gone  on  improving 
for  years.  Her  profits  were  too  rapid,  however,  not  to  excite  a 
stronger  mind  than  she  possessed.  She  made,  of  course,  handsome 
presents  to  the  young  Catchpoles,  and  Margaret  had  the  mortifica- 
tion of  seeing  a  smart  pipe,  and  of  smelling  the  fume3  of  rich 
tobacco,  even  in  her  own  cottage,  well  knowing  they  were  the  fruits 
of  her  lover's  misdoings. 

Meantime,  that  lover's  name  began  to  be  notorious  along  the 
coast.  Margaret  heard  no  good  of  him.  The  coast-guard  had  set  a 
mark  upon  him,  and  it  became  known  throughout  the  country  that 
"Will  Laud  was  the  ringleader  of  as  desperate  a  gang  as  ever  infested 
the  shores  of  Gre5.t  Britain. 

So  frequent  were  the  inroads  made  at  this  period  upon  the 
commerce  of  the  country,  that  Government  had  to  employ  a  very 

3 


36  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

active  force  to  stay,  though  she  could  not  put  down,  so  discreditable 
a  feature  upon  her  coasts. 

At  this  time  the  shores  of  Norfolk  and  Suffolk  were  most  con- 
spicuous for  contraband  trade.  Severe  and  deadly  were  the  continual 
actions  between  the  preventive-service  men  and  the  smugglers  ; 
lives  were  continually  lost  on  both  sides  ;  and  dreadful  animosities 
sprang  up  between  the  parties  upon  the  sea-shore. 

Will  Laud  and  his  associates  had  great  luck  ;  and  Captain  Bar- 
good  found  in  him  as  bold  and  profitable  a  fellow  as  he  could  wish. 
Many  were  the  hairbreadth  escapes,  however,  which  he,  in  con 
junction  with  his  crew,  experienced.  Laud  was  a  tool  in  the  hands 
of  his  mate,  though  he  himself  was  not  aware  of  it ;  for  whilst  that 
fellow  had  his  own  way,  he  always  managed  to  get  it  through  the 
medium  of  the  captains  permission.  He  would,  in  his  bluff  way, 
suggest,  with  all  becoming  sub-ordination,  such  and  such  a  scheme, 
and  generally  succeeded  in  the  enterprise. 

They  had  observed  for  a  long  time  a  scout  upon  the  beach  under 
Bawdsey  Cliffs,  and  knew  that  he  was  one  of  the  Irish  cruisers, 
who  had  been  transplanted  to  watch  their  craft :  Laud  proposed 
to  nab  him  when  he  could.  He  had  been  ashore  one  day  to  meet 
his  employer,  and  had  met  this  merry-hearted  Irishman  at  the  Sun 
Inn,  in  the  street  of  that  long,  sandy  village  of  Bawdsey.  Pat 
was  a  loquacious,  whisky-loving,  light-hearted  fellow,  who,  without 
fear,  and  with  ready  wit,  made  himself  agreeable  to  everybody. 
He  frequented  the  various  inns  along  the  border,  and  was  generally 
liked  for  his  dash  of  gallantry,  his  love  of  drinking,  and  his  generous 
spirit ;  he  was  a  brave  fellow,  too,  and  watchful  for  his  honour 
He  had  seen  along  the  beach  a  man  roaming  about,  and  had 
concealed  himself,  not  far  from  a  fisherman's  cottage,  on  purpose 
to  watch  him  ;  but  all  he  could  make  out  was,  that  the  man  went 
to  the  back  of  the  cottage,  and  there  he  lost  him.  Pat  went  to  the 
fisherman's  cot,  found  the  man  and  his  wife  at  their  meals,  searched 
about  the  premises,  but  could  spy  nothing.  Pat  had  seen  this 
thing  several  times,  and  was  fully  convinced  that  the  man  he  saw 
was  a  smuggler. 

In  Bawdsey  Cliff  the  smugglers  had  a  cave  of  no  small  dimensions. 
Tt  had  formerly  been  a  hollow  ravine  in  the  earth,  formed  by  the 
Avhirling  of  a  stream  of  water,  whicli  had  passed  quickly  through  a 
gravelly  bed,  and  met  with  opposition  in  this  mass  of  clay.  It  had 
made  for  itself  a  large  crater,  and  then  had   issued   again  at  the- 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  37 

same  place,  and  ran  through  a  sand-gall  and  gravelly  passage  down 
to  the  sea.  This  was  discovered  by  a  tenant  of  the  Earl  of  Dysart, 
who,  in  sinking  a  well  near  his  shepherd's  cottage,  suddenly  struck 
into  the  opening  of  this  cave.  As  the  springs  were  low  at  this 
season,  the  cave  wras  almost  empty  of  water,  and  formed  a  most 
curious  appearance.  It  was  even  then  called  the  Robbers'  Cave, 
and  curiosity  was  greatly  excited  in  the  country  to  visit  it.  It  was 
so  smoothly  and  regularly  formed  by  the  eddies  of  the  whirlpool, 
that  the  nicest  art  could  not  have  made  it  so  uniform.  The  pro- 
prietor sank  his  well  some  feet  lower,  until  he  came  to  a  good 
stream  ;  but  in  making  the  well,  he  formed  an  archway  into  this 
curious  place,  and  left  it  so  for  the  gratification  of  public  curiosity. 
Time  swept  on,  and  the  cave  became  less  frequented,  and  at  last 
forgotten. 

A  few  years,  however,  previously  to  this  narration,  some  smugglers 
had  been  disappointed  of  their  run,  and  had  thrown  their  tubs 
down  the  well,  with  the  consent  of  their  agent  the  fisherman, 
probably  a  descendant  of  the  old  shepherd's,  who  dwelt  in  the 
cottage.  This  led  to  the  re-discovery  and  improvement  of  this 
famous  depot  of  arms,  ammunition,  stock-in-trade,  and  place  of 
retreat,  which  was  then  occupied  by  Will  Laud  and  his  associates, 
and  to  which  very  spot  John  Luff  was  at  that  time  bound. 

These  men  had  contrived  to  make  the  cave  as  comfortable  a 
berth  as  a  subterraneous  place  could  be.  They  had  ingeniously 
tapped  the  land  stream  below  the  cave,  and  laid  it  perfectly  dry, 
and  with  much  labour  and  ingenuity  had  contrived  to  perforate  the 
clay  into  the  very  chimney  of  the  cottage  ;  so  that  a  current  of 
air  passed  through  the  archway  directly  up  the  chimney,  and  carried 
away  the  smoke,  without  the  least  suspicion  being  awakened.  This 
place  was  furnished  with  tables,  mats,  stools,  and  every  requisite 
for  a  place  of  retreat  and  rendezvous.  The  descent  was  by  the 
bucket  well-rope,  which  a  sailor  well  knew  how  to  handle  ;  whilst 
the  bucket  itself  served  to  convey  provisions  or  goods  of  any 
kind. 

Such  was  the  place  into  which  vanished  the  choice  spirits  which 
poor  Pat  had  seen,  and  into  which  Pat  himself,  nolens  volens,  was 
shortly  to  be  introduced.  It  would  be  needless  to  add,  that  the 
fisherman  and  his  wife  were  accomplices  of  the  smugglers. 

Some  short  time  after,  Pat  had  an  opportunity  of  discovering 
the  use  of  the  well  as  an  inlet  and  outlet  of  the  smugglers,  and 


38  THE    HISTORY    OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLR 

conceived  the  idea  that  contraband  goods  were  stowed  away  at 
the  bottom  of  it.  He  had  seen  a  man,  after  talking  to  the  woman 
at  the  spot,  descend,  and  then  come  up  again,  and  depart. 

"  Now's  my  turn,"  says  Pat  to  himself,  as  he  came  out  from  his 
hiding-place,  and  went  to  the  well.  As  every  sailor  could  let  him- 
self down  by  a  rope,  and  ascend  by  it  likewise,  Pat  was  soon  at 
the  bottom  of  the  well,  but  found  nothing.  He  began  his  ascent, 
working  away  with  his  hands  and  feet  in  a  manner  which  a  sailor 
only  understands.  He  was  gaining  more  daylight,  and  hoping  that 
he  should  get  out  before  the  woman  (whom  he  concluded  was  gone 
for  help)  should  return.  He  had  gained  the  very  part  where  the 
arc'.iway  into  the  cave  was  formed,  and  there  found  a  sort  of  stay, 
or  bar,  at  the  opposite  side,  to  rest  his  leg  upon.  He  was  taking 
advantage  of  this  post  to  get  breath,  and  had  just  swung  off  again 
to  ascend,  when  he  felt  his  ankles  grasped  by  a  powerful  pair  of 
pincers,  as  it  seemed,  and  in  another  instant  such  a  jerk  as  com- 
pelled him  instantly  to  let  go  the  rope,  and  he  came  with  all  his 
weight  against  the  side  of  the  well.  Stunned  he  was,  but  not  a 
bone  was  broken,  for  his  tormentors  had  taken  the  precaution  to 
have  a  well- stuffed  hammock  ready  to  break  his  fall.  He  was  in 
a  moment  in  the  cave,  and  when  reviving,  heard  such  a  burst  of 
unearthly  merriment,  he  could  think  of  nothing  but  that  he  had 
arrived  at  that  dreaded  purgatory,  to  escape  which  he  had  paid  so 
much  to  his  priest. 

In  a  faint,  feeble  voice,  Pat  was  heard  to  exclaim — 
"  Oh,  Father  O'Gharty  ;  Oh,  Father  O'Gharty,  deliver  me  !  " 
This  caused  such  another  burst,  and  such  a  roar  of  "  Oh,  Father 
O'Gharty  !  Oh,  Father  O'Gharty  !  "  from  so  many  voices,  that  the 
poor  fellow  groaned  aloud.  But  a  voice,  which  he  fancied  he  had 
heard  when  on  earth,  addressed  him,  as  he  lay  with  his  eyes  just 
opening  to  a  red  glare  of  burning  torches. 

"Patrick  O'Brien!  Patrick  O'Brien!  welcome  to  the  shades 
below." 

Pat  blinked  a  little,  and  opened  his  eyes  wider,  and  saw,  as  he 
thought,  twenty  or  thirty  ghosts  of  smugglers,  whom  he  supposed 
had  been  shot  by  the  coast-guard,  and  were  answering  for  their  sins 
in  purgatory. 

"Come,  Pat,  take  a  drop  of  moonshine,  my  hearty,  to  qualify  the 
jvater  ycu  have  taken  into  y  "'  tomach  :  this  liquid  flame  will 
warm  the  cold  draught.'' 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  39 

Pat  had  need  of  something  to  warm  him,  but  had  no  idea  of 
drinking  flame. 

"  I  hope,"  he  said,  "  your  majesty  -will  excuse  a  poor  Irishman." 

"  Xo  excuse  !  no  excuse  !  By  the  saint,  your  namesake,  you 
shall  swallow  this  gill,  or  maybe  you'll  have  a  little  more  water  to 
simmer  in." 

Pat  made  no  further  opposition  ;  and  ons  of  the  uncouth,  black- 
bearded  demons,  handed  him  a  cup  of  a3  bright,  shining  liquid  as 
any  which  the  sons  of  whisky  ever  saw. 

"Drink,  Pat,  drink,"  said  the  fellow  ;  "a  short  life  and  a  merry 
one." 

"Och!"  sighed  Pat,  and  the  next  moment  the  burning  liquid 
ran  down  Ins  throat,  warming  his  inside  with  such  a  glow,  as  made 
the  blood  circulate  rapidly  through  every  vein  of  his  body  V/hether 
it  was  the  pure  gin  he  had  drunk,  or  the  naturally  aspiring  disposi- 
tion of  the  man,  he  began  to  look  around  him,  and  to  note  the 
habitation  in  which  they  dwelt.  Pikes  and  guns  were  slung  here 
and  there  ;  cables  and  casks  lay  about  the  room  ;  swords  and  pistols 
— weapons  which  seemed  more  adapted  to  fleshly  man  than  disem- 
bodied spirits— made  the  reviving  spirit  of  this  son  of  the  Emerald 
Isle  bethink  him  that  he  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  mortals.  He 
now  looked  a  little  more  wise,  and  began  to  give  a  good  guess  at 
the  truth,  when  the  one  who  seemed  to  be  the  captain  of  the  band 
soon  dissipated  all  his  doubts  by  saying,  "Patrick  O'Brien,  here's 
to  Lieutenant  Barry  and  the  preventive  service.  Come,  Pat,  drink 
to  your  commander,  'tis  the  last  time  you  will  ever  be  in  such 
good  company." 

These  words  convinced  him  that  he  was  in  the  smugglers'  cave  ; 
and  as  he  knew  them  to  be  most  desperate  fellows,  his  own  lot  did 
not  appear  much  more  happy  than  when  he  thought  himself  in  the 
company  of  evil  spirits. 

"  Come,  Pat,  drink.     You  need  a  little  comfort." 

Pat  drank,  and  though  he  foresaw  that  no  good  could  come  to 
him,  yet  as  the  spirit  poured  in,  and  his  heart  grew  warm,  ho 
thought  he  would  not  seem  afraid,  so  he  drank  "  Success  to  Lieu- 
tenant Barry  and  the  coast-guard  !  " 

"  2STow,  Pat,  one  more  glass,  and  we  part  for  ever." 

Ominous  words— "  part  for  ever  !  "  He  heartily  wished  himself 
again  in  his  own  dear  island,  ere  he  had  ventured  a  peep  at  the 
bottom  of  the  well.     The  smugglers— for  such  he  found,  they  were 


40  THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

—grinned  upon  him  most  unceremoniously,  as  if  they  had  some 
horrid  purpose  in  view,  and  seemed  to  enjoy  the  natural  timidity 
which  began  to  creep  over  his  frame. 

Pat  drank  his  last  glass  :  John  Luff  arose,  commanded  silence, 
and,  in  as  gentle  a  voice  as  such  a  fellow  could  assume,  said,  "  Mr. 
Patrick  O'Brien,  you  are  welcome  now  to  your  choice  of  departure." 

"  Thank  ye,  gemmen,  thank  ye,  and  I  shall  not  forget  your 
hospitality." 

Pat  rose,  as  if  to  depart. 

"  Mr.  Patrick  O'Brien,  the  choice  of  departure  we  give  you  is 
the  choice  of  death  !  " 

Pat's  heart  sank  within  him,  but  he  did  not  lose  all  his  courage 
or  presence  of  mind  ;  and  the  latter  quality  suggested  to  him  that 
he  would  try  a  little  blarney. 

"Why,  gemmen,  you  wouldn't  kill  a  poor  fellow  in  cold  blood, 
would  you  1 " 

"  No,  Pat,  no  ;  and  for  that  reason  we  have  made  you  welcome  to 
a  drop,  that  you  may  not  die  a  cold-blooded  death.     Draw  swords  !  " 

In  an  instant  twenty  sharp  blades  were  unsheathed. 

"  Now,  Mr.  O'Brien,  take  your  choice :  shall  every  man  have 
a  cut  at  you — first  a  leg,  then  a  hand,  then  an  arm,  and  so  on, 
ivntil  your  head  only  shall  remain— or  will  you  be  rolled  up  in  a 
hammock  for  a  sack,  as  your  winding-sheet,  and,  well  shotted,  sink 
as  a  sailor  to  the  bottom  of  those  waters  we  have  just  quitted  ?  " 

"  Thank  your  honour,"  said  the  poor  victim  of  their  cruelty, 
"thank  your  honour  ;  and  of  the  two  I  had  rather  have  neither." 

There  was  no  smile  upon  any  of  the  ferocious  countenances 
around  him,  and  Pat's  hopes  of  anything  but  cruelty  forsook  him. 
Just  at  this  moment  the  bucket  descended  the  well,  and  in  came 
Will  Laud,  or  Captain  Laud,  as  he  was  called,  who,  acquainted  with 
the  fact  of  the  Irishman's  descent  (for  he  was  the  very  person  whom 
Pat  had  seen  to  make  his  exit,  and  had  been  informed  by  the 
woman  of  his  being  drowned),  was  a  little  relieved  to  see  the  man 
standing  in  the  midst  of  his  men  unscathed. 

He  soon  understood  the  position  in  which  he  was  placed,  and, 
after  a  few  words  with  his  lieutenant,  John  Luff,  himself  repeated 
the  already  determined  sentence  of  his  crew. 

So  calm  was  his  voice,  so  fixed  his  manner,  that  the  bold  Irishman 
perceived  at  once  that  his  doom  was  at  hand.  Assuming,  therefore, 
his  wonted  courage,  making  up  his  mind  to  death,  he  looked  the 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE  41 

commander  in  the  face,  and  with  the  composure  of  a  mind  com- 
paratively at  ease,  said — 

"  Since  I  must  die,  let  me  die  dacently.  My  choice  is  made — 
the  hammock  for  my  winding-sheet,  the  water  for  my  grave,  and 
God  forgive  you  all." 

Not  a  word  more  did  the  brave  fellow  utter,  but  stood  like 
a  hero,  or  a  martyr,  ready  for  execution. 

Now  to  the  credit  of  Laud  be  it  recorded,  that  in  his  soul  hu 
admired  the  intrepidity  of  the  man's  spirit  ;  and  murder,  base 
murder  of  a  bold  man,  never  was  his  intention. 

He  whispered  to  his  mate,  though  in  a  moment  after  he  exclaimed 
to  his  crew,  "  Do  your  duty." 

Pat  was  tripped  up,  rolled  up  in  the  hammock,  swung  upon  the 
chain,  heard  the  whistle,  and  in  an  instant  found  himself,  as  he 
thought,  descending  to  the  shades  below.  In  fact,  however,  he 
was  ascending,  though  consciousness  for  a  time  forsook  him,  and 
the  swoon  of  anticipated  suffocation  bereft  him  of  his  senses.  When 
he  did  recover,  he  found  himself  at  the  bottom  of  a  boat,  bounding 
over  the  billows,  and  was  soon  on  board  a  ship.  Here  he  revived, 
and  was  treated  by  the  crew  with  kindness  ;  but  after  many  days 
he  was  put  ashore  on  the  eastern  coast  of  his  own  dear  isle,  with 
this  gentle  admonition  : — 

"Patrick  O'Brien,  'all's  well  that  ends  well.'  Let  well  alone 
for  the  future,  and  now  farewell." 

So  ended  this  spree,  which  may  serve  to  show  the  mind  and 
habits  of  those  men  with  whom  Will  Laud  had  to  deal. 

At  times  these  desperate  men  would  be  mutinous,  but  their 
common  interest  kept  them  together.  The  persons  of  several  were 
well  known  along  the  coast,  and  farmers  found  it  to  their  interest 
to  wink  at  their  peccadilloes. 

It  was  no  uncommon  thing  for  them  to  have  their  horses  taken 
out  of  the  fields,  or  even  out  of  their  stables,  for  a  run  at  night ; 
but  they  were  sure  of  a  handsome  present  being  left  upon  their 
premises — casks  of  gin,  real  Hollands,  packets  of  linen  ;  and,  some- 
times learning  the  thing  most  wanted  by  a  particular  farmer,  he 
would  be  surprised  to  find  it  directed  to  him  by  an  unknown  hand, 
and  delivered,  without  charge,  at  his  door. 

The  handsomest  saddles  and  bridles  which  could  be  procured, 
whips,  lamps,  lanterns,  handsome  pairs  of  candlesticks,  guns,  pistols, 
walking-sticks,  pipes,  etc.,  were,  at  various  houses,  left  as  presents. 


42  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

Such  was  the  state  of  the  traffic,  that  the  best  spirits  could  be 
always  had  at  the  farm-houses  on  the  coast  (for  all  knew  where  it 
might  be  had  without  any  difficulty),  only  let  the  money  be  left  for 
it  with  the  order.  In  this  manner  was  the  revenue  defrauded  ; 
and  there  were  men  in  high  authority  who  used  to  defend  the  practice 
by  calling  it  England's  best  nursery  for  sea- men.  Seldom,  however, 
were  good  men  secured  from  these  sources.  The  generality  of 
smugglers  were  not  such  as  England  wanted  to  defend  her  liberty 
and  laws. 

About  this  time  so  many  presents  were  sent  to  Margaret,  and 
left  in  such  a  clandestine  manner  at  or  near  the  cottage,  that 
although  she  herself  was  never  corrupted  by  any  one  of  these 
temptations,  yet  the  effects  of  them  began  to  show  themselves  in 
her  family.  Charles,  the  elder  brother,  used  to  find  the  presents, 
and  dispose  of  them  to  Mrs.  Cracknell,  and  he  found  his  own 
gains  so  rapidly  increase  that  he  began  to  be  idle  ;  would  not  go 
to  plough  ;  disliked  working  on  the  land ;  took  to  carpentering  at 
the  old  sexton's  at  Nacton  ;  learned  to  read  and  write  ;  and  again 
encouraged  his  old  penchant  for  soldiering.  At  length  he  left  his 
parents  and  friends,  and  enlisted  in  the  33rd  regiment  of  foot, 
under  the  fictitious  name  of  Jacob  Dedham,  at  the  Black  Horse 
public-house,  St.  Mary  Elm's,  Ipswich.  He  passed  himself  off  as 
belonging  to  that  parish  ;  and  but  for  the  accidental  circumstance 
of  a  Nacton  lad,  of  the  name  of  Calthorpe,  seeing  him  at  the  inn, 
his  friends  and  relatives  would  have  been  ignorant  of  his  departure. 
His  regiment  soon  after  his  enlistment  sailed  for  the  East  Indies  ; 
and  the  history  of  Charles  Catchpole,  alias  Jacob  Dedham,  would 
of  itself  form  no  uninteresting  narrative.  He  rose  in  his  regiment 
by  great  steadiness  and  assiduity.  He  became  a  singular  adept 
at  learning  Eastern  languages  and  customs.  He  was  taken  great 
notice  of  by  Sir  William  Jones,  the  great  Oriental  linguist,  who 
recommended  him  to  a  very  important  charge  under  Lord  Corn- 
wallis,  who  employed  him  in  a  confidential  duty,  as  a  spy,  upon  the 
frontiers  of  Persia.  We  shall  have  occasion  to  contemplate  him 
in  a  future  part  of  this  history.  For  the  present  we  pass  on  to 
some  further  fruits  of  the  smuggler's  intimacy  with  the  Catch- 
poles. 

Robert,  another  son,  in  consequence  of  the  unwholesome  intro- 
duction of  rapid  profits,  took  to  drinking,  smoking,  and  idle  company, 
and  very  soon    brought   himself    to    an   early   grave  ;    giving   the 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCIIPOLE.  43 

deepest  pangs  to  his  parents,   and  creating  sorrow  and  suffering 
to  all.     He  died  of  delirium  tremens,  in  the  year  1791. 

James  became  a  poacher,  and  was  shot  in  a  desperate  affray 
with  the  gamekeepers  of  Admiral  Vernon.  He  lingered  on  his 
brother's  bed  until  December  15th,  1792,  and  expired  in  deep  dis- 
tress, and  with  a  declaration  to  poor  Margaret,  that  it  was  her 
acquaintance  with  Laud  that  brought  him  to  ruin.  The  youngest 
son  alone  preserved  any  steady  fixed  principles,  and  was  the  prop 
of  his  parents'  hopes. 

The  whole  family  now  fell  into  disrepute,  and  the  bitterest  days 
of  adversity  followed.  Tale3  began  to  be  circulated  of  Margaret's 
connection  with  the  smuggler.  Sailors  were  seen  to  come  and  go 
from  the  cottage  ;  and  if  they  went  but  to  ask  for  information,  the 
lying  tongue  of  slander  was  sure  to  propagate  some  infamous  story. 
It  was  true  that  presents  were  left  about  the  cottage,  and  that 
agents  of  the  Cracknells  were  ready  to  receive  them  ;  but  Margaret 
never  touched  a  single  thing  that  was  so  found.  She  was  not  in- 
sensible to  all  she  saw,  and  she  felt  the  full  weight  of  Laud's  mis- 
conduct ;  but  she  never  forgot  to  pray  for  him,  and  hoped,  with 
that  fondness  which  true  love  only  can  know,  that  he  would  one 
day  be  converted.  But  she  partook  of  the  ignominy  which  now 
visited  her  family,  though  she  assuredly  did  not  deserve  it.  She 
recommended  her  father  to  take  another  cottage,  and  even  to  seek 
work  under  another  master.  Anything  she  considered  would  be 
better  than  a  place  where  he  met  with  such  continual  misfortunes. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Mrs.  Denton  was  unkind  to  Mar- 
garet, though  her  own  servants  took  every  opportunity  to  persuade 
her  that  she  was  a  very  worthless  person — she  seemed  to  think  a 
removal  would  be  best.  Accordingly  Jonathan  Catchpole  changed 
his  abode,  and,  from  a  regular  workman  on  that  farm,  became  a 
jobbing  labourer  wherever  he  could  find  employment.  He  and  his 
family  lived  at  a  lone  cottage  on  the  borders  of  Nacton  Heath. 
Edward  became  a  shepherd's  boy,  and  Margaret  had  serious 
thoughts  of  once  more  going  out  to  service ;  but  where  ?  Alas  ! 
she  remembered  how  happy  she  had  been  in  her  first  place,  and 
the  very  remembrance  of  that  happiness  made  her  shrink  from 
having  to  relate  to  her  former  benefactor  the  then  miserable  conse- 
quences of  her  first  attachment. 

Laud's  father  shared  in  the  general  stigma  attached  to  his  son's 
name — he  wa3  accused  of  conniving  at  the  youth's  excesses,  and 


44  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

lost  his  situation  as  ferryman  of  the  Government  packets  from 
Harwich  to  Landguard  Fort.  What  miseries,  heaped  one  upon  the 
other,  now  fell  with  blighting  force  upon  poor  Margaret  ! 

But  a  greater  trial  just  now  awaited  her — a  dreadful  conflict  took 
place  below  Felixstow  beach  between  the  coast-guard  and  Laud's 
crew.  A  run  was  planned  and  put  in  execution  from  the  Walton 
Marshes  for  Woodbridge — carts  were  brought  to  the  cliff,  the 
coast-guard,  as  was  thought,  being  attracted  to  Sizewell  Gap,  and 
everything  being  open  before  the  smugglers.  The  cargo  was  landed, 
and  the  run  began,  when  the  preventive-service  men,  who  had  been 
secretly  informed  of  the  intended  ruse  at  Sizewell  Gap,  came  out 
of  their  hiding-place  in  a  double  band,  headed  by  Lieutenant 
Edward  Barry,  a  brave  young  sailor,  second  son  of  Mr.  Henry 
Barry,  a  miller  and  farmer,  of  Levington  Hill.  The  onset  was 
tremendous,  and  the  resistance  deadly  ;  but  might  and  right  were 
on  one  side,  and  bore  down  the  stalwart  forms  of  the  violent 
smugglers. 

Three  of  the  crew  were  killed,  and  the  others,  unable  to  stand 
against  the  assault,  fled  as  well  as  they  were  able.     Young  Barry 
and  Laud  had  a  severe  personal  encounter,  in  which  the  death  of 
one  or  the  other  seemed  the  determination  of  both.     Laud  was  the 
most  powerful  man,  but  Barry  was  the  most  expert  swordsman  ; 
but  what  was  the  experience  of  the  sword-arm  in  so  dark  a  night  ? 
The   two   commanders   seemed   to  know  each   other   even   in  the 
darkness,  for  they  fought  with  voices  of   encouragement  to  their 
men.     The  smugglers  had  fled,  and  Laud  began  to  fear  he  was 
alone ;  but  the  pursuers,  too,  had  gone,  and  still  the  two  captains 
were  contending.     At  this  moment  the  contest  was  most  deadly- 
Laud  had  wounded  young  Barry  by  a  thrust.     Though  it  was  slight 
it  was  felt  by  the  officer,  and  he  determined  neither  to  ask  nor  to 
give  quarter.     Laud  had  driven  him  up  the  side  of  a  bank,  and 
was  in  the  act  of  giving  a  thrust  at  his  heart,  as  Barry,  with  the 
advantage  of  his  situation,  like  lightning  gave  a  cut  at  his  head, 
which  at  once  went  through  his  hat,  and  descended  upon  his  fore- 
head.    Down  fell   the   smuggler  like  a  thunderbolt,   and  another 
moment  the  sword  would  have  been  buried  in  his  side,  had  not 
Barry  been  compelled  to  act  on  the  defensive  by  the  opposition  of 
John  Luff. 

Finding   a  new   antagonist,    and  being   himself  wounded,    this 
young  man  thought  best  to  gather  up  his  strength  for  a  defensive 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  45 

retreat.  He  wa3  not  pursued.  Hearing  some  of  his  own  men  he 
called  to  them,  and,  recognising  him,  they  advanced  with  him  to  the 
spot  where,  as  Barry  supposed,  Captain  Laud  lay  dead.  But  Luff 
had  thrown  him  over  his  shoulder,  and,  being  well  acquainted  with 
the  marshes,  had  carried  him  over  some  planks,  and  so  escaped. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

DECEIT, 

Margaret  was  seated  in  her  father's  cottage,  now  no  longer  that 
happy  spot  it  used  to  be  to  her,  but  a  change  of  abode  had  brought 
no  rest  from  the  troubles  and  anxieties  of  her  mind  :  that  very 
day  she  had  heard  of  the  dreadful  encounter  between  the  coast- 
guard and  the  smugglers,  and  the  report  of  the  death  of  Will 
Laud,  the  notorious  commander. 

Margaret  heard  of  her  lover's  death,  as  may  be  supposed,  with 
the  deepest  emotion  ;  but  she  was  not  satisfied  that  the  accounts 
she  received  were  correct,  and  had  serious  intentions  of  going  to 
the  ferryman's  house  to  make  inquiries  for  herself,  when  a  rap 
came  at  their  lone  door,  and  who  should  come  iu  but  the  ferryman 
himself,  the  father  of  Laud.  The  old  man  seemed  to  observe  the- 
altered  state  of  the  family  upon  whom  he  intruded  himself,  and 
could  not  help  saying  at  once, — 

"I  bring  you  bad  news,  Margaret,  very  bad,  aud  of  my  poor 
boy."'  The  old  man  paused,  and  Margaret's  heart  quailed,  bat  in 
the  next  moment  it  revived.     "  But  he  would  have  me  bring  it  !  " 

"  Is  he  not  dead  then  ?  "  exclaimed  the  poor  girl,  as  with  a  bound, 
she  seized  the  aged  ferryman  by  the  arm  ;  "  is  he  not  dead  ?  " 

"  No,  not  yet — at  least  he  was  not  when  I  left  him  two  hours 
ago,  and  he  would  make  me  come  to  you,  and  tell  you  he  wished 
earnestly  to  see  you  before  he  died." 

"  Where  is  he  ?  where  is  he  ?  "  exclaimed  Margaret. 

"At  my  poor  cot  on  Walton  Cliff  ;  but  oh,  Margaret,  so  altered, 
so  dreadfully  marked,  and  so  unhappy,  that  if  you  do  see  him  I 
question  much  if  you  will  know  him.  But  will  you  come  and 
see  him  ?  " 

"  Will  I  ?— that  I  will !  Only  you  sit  down  and  eat  a  bit,  and  I 
will  soon  be  ready." 


46  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

It  took  but  a  short  space  of  time  for  Margaret  to  make  prepara- 
tion for  her  journey.  Laud  was  alive,  though  ill,  dangerously  ill ; 
still  she  might  be  the  means  of  restoring  him,  if  not  to  health  of 
body,  at  least  to  a  more  healthy  state  of  mind.  She  is  ready,  and 
the  old  man  and  Margaret  depart  together. 

"  Is  he  much  hurt  ?  "  was  Margaret's  first  question,  after  they 
had  advanced  beyond  the  heath  on  to  the  high-road  ;  "  is  he  much 
wounded  ?  " 

"I  fear  he  is.  At  times  he  is  like  a  madman,  raving  at  everything, 
cursing  all  smugglers  and  his  own  misfortunes.  The  fever  is  high 
upon  him ;  he  glares  wildly  at  the  old  woman  I  have  got  to  do  for 
him — calls  her  a  smuggler's  hag  ;  and  then  he  mentions  you,  Mar- 
garet, and  the  tears  roll  down  his  face,  and  he  finds  relief.  His 
wound  is  on  the  forehead— a  deep  gash,  through  the  bone  ;  and 
the  pain  he  suffers  from  the  dressing  is  dreadful." 

"  Have  you  had  a  surgeon  ?  " 

"No,  Margaret,  no — I  dare  not:  I  fear  lest  he  should  betray 
himself.  His  life  would  be  forfeit  to  his  country's  outraged  laws, 
and  he  would  die  a  more  bitter  death  than  now  awaits  him  in  my 
cot." 

There  ran  a  sensitive  shudder  through  poor  Margaret's  frame  as 
she  thought  of  the  situation  of  her  lover.  Parental  affection  had 
been  more  cautious  than  she  would  have  been,  and  she  secretly 
rejoiced.  She  thought  likewise  of  her  own  situation  ;  but  selfishness 
had  no  portion  in  her  soul.  Laud  might  die!  The  thought  was 
agonizing  ;  but  he  would  die,  perhaps,  a  true  penitent.  This  was 
surely  better  than  being  suddenly  sent  out  of  the  world  with  all 
his  sins  upon  his  head.     She  felt  thankful  for  so  much  mercy. 

"Does  he  ever  seem  sorry  for  his  crimes?"  she  inquired  of  the 
old  man. 

"  I  cannot  exactly  say  he  does,"  was  the  reply,  "  though  he  speaks 
so  vehemently  against  his  captain.  I  wish  he  saw  his  situation  in 
a  more  forcible  light." 

"  Time  may  be  given  him  for  that  yet,  Mr.  Laud,  at  least,  I  pray 
God  it  may  be  so." 

"  Amen,  say  I ;  amen  !  " 

"  How  did  he  find  you  out  ?     How  did  he  reach  home  ?  " 

"  He  was  brought  here  upon  a  comrade's  back,  a  stout  sailor, 
who  came  accompanied  by  old  Dame  Mitchel,  who,  if  report  speaks 
truth,  is  well  acquainted  with  the  smugglers.     She  says  that  John 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  47 

Luff,  the  captain's  mate,  brought  poor  Will  to  her  house ;  and 
when  he  learned  that  I  was  living  only  half  a  mile  off,  he  persuaded 
her  to  come  and  help  me  to  do  for  him.     He  brought  him  to  me 

at  night." 

With  conversation  of  this  kind,  the  father  and  the  maiden  pursued 
their  course  till  they  arrived  at  a  very  sequestered  cottage,  near 
the  ruins  of  Walton  Castle,  close  to  that  celebrated  spot  where  the 
Earl  of  Leicester  landed  with  his  Flemings  in  a.d.  1173.     "  It  stood 
upon  a  high  cliff,  about  the  distance  of  a  mile  from  the  mouth  of 
the  Woodbridge  Haven,  two  miles  from  the  Orwell.     At  this  time 
but  few  stones  mark  the  spot.     There  is  little  doubt  that  it  was  a 
Roman  fortification,  as  a  great  many  urns,  rings,  coins,  and  torques* 
have  been  found  in  that  neighbourhood.     It  is  supposed  to  have 
been  built  by  Constantino  the  Great  when  he  withdrew  his  legions 
from  the  frontier  towns  in  the  east  of  Britain,  and  built  forts  or 
castles  to  supply  the  want  of   them."     So   says   the   old   Suffolk 
Traveller. 

Our  travellers  arrived  at  this  lone  cottage,  where  a  faint,  glim- 
mering light  from  the  low  window  told  that  the  watch  was  still  kept 
at  the  sick  man's  bed.  The  father  entered  first,  and  soon  returned, 
telling  Margaret  that  she  might  come  in,  as  sleep,  for  the  first 
time  since  the  night  he  had  been  brought  home,  had  overpowered 
Laud's  senses. 

By  the  faint  gleam  of  that  miserable  light,  Margaret  perceived 
how  dreadfully  altered  were  the  features  of  her  lover.  He  lay  in  a 
heavy,  hard-breathing,  lethargic  sleep,  and  the  convulsive  move- 
ments of  his  limbs,  and  a  restless  changing  of  the  position  of  his 
arms,  told  that,  however  weary  the  body,  the  spirit  was  in  a  very 
agitated  state  ;  and,  oh  !  how  deadly,  how  livid  was  his  countenance  ! 
Scarcely  could  Margaret  think  it  the  same  she  had  been  accustomed 
to  look  upon  with  so  much  pleasure  :  the  brow  was  distorted  with 
pain,  the  lips  scorched  with  fever— a  stiff  white  moisture  exuded 
from  his  closed  eyelids.  A  painful  moan  escaped  his  heaving 
chest,  and  at  last  he  surprised  the  listeners  by  a  sudden  painful 
cry. 

'■Margaret,  ahoy!   Margaret,  ahoy!    Hullo!   hullo!     Don't  run 
away.     Here,  here  !    I  want  you  !  " 

And  then  his  limbs  moved,  just  as  if  he  was  in  the  act  of  running 
after  some  one. 

The  fever  was  evidently  high  upon  him,  and  poor  Margaret  was 


48  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

herself  greatly  afflicted  at  seeing  his  extreme  suffering.  She  gave 
way  to  tears,  which  affected  the  poor  father  so  much  that  the  old 
man  could  not  refrain  from  weeping.  The  woman  alone  seemed 
composed  ;  as  if  she  had  been  accustomed  to  scenes  of  horror,  she 
exhibited  no  signs  of  tenderness  or  concern.  She  continued  to 
mumble  a  piece  of  brown  bread  which  she  held  in  her  hand, 
lifting  up  her  brows  from  time  to  time,  and  darting  her  sharp 
grey  eyes,  first  at  the  smuggler,  then  at  the  girl,  and  then  at  the 
old  man,  but  without  uttering  or  seeming  to  hear  a  word,  or  to 
feel  a  single  human  emotion. 

As  she  looked  upon  her,  a  thought  shot  through  Margaret's 
brain  of  no  very  friendly  nature  toward  the  singular  being  before 
]ier — she  could  not  help  thinking  that  this  Moggy  Mitchel  was 
a  sort  of  spy  upon  her  lover.  How  keen,  how  quick,  how  appre- 
hensive is  true  love  ! 

To  prove  that  Margaret's  suspicion  was  not  altogether  groundless, 
that  very  night  the  old  woman  went  out  of  the  house,  under 
pretence  of  seeing  what  sort  of  night  it  was  ;  and  as  Margaret  sat 
watching  by  the  bedside  of  Laud,  the  moon,  which  was  just  rising 
above  the  summit  of  the  cliff,  showed  her,  through  the  lattice, 
two  dark  figures  standing  together.  She  could  not,  of  course, 
distinguish  their  features,  but  the  outlines  of  their  forms  were 
very  strong,  and  not  to  be  mistaken — she  was  sure  it  was  John 
Luff  and  Dame  Mitchel,  and  that  they  were  in  close  conversation 
on  the  verge  of  the  cliff. 

The  old  woman  shortly  returned  tc  the  room,  and  it  was  evident 
to  Margaret  that  something  had  excited  her. 

"  We  must  get  him  well  as  soon  as  we  can,"  were  the  first  word* 
she  uttered  ;  and  had  not  her  former  coolness  and  her  late  meeting 
upon  the  cliff  awakened  in  Margaret's  mind  some  sinister  motive 
prompting  this  speech,  she  might  have  been  deceived  by  it. 

Margaret  had  the  deepest  and  purest  motives  for  desiring  the 
young  man's  restoration  to  health  :  she  loved  him,  and  she  hoped 
to  re-establish  his  character,  and  to  recover  him  not  only  from  his 
sick-bed,  but  from  his  state  of  degradation.  But  in  all  her  efforts 
she  found  herself  frustrated  by  the  interference  of  this  beldame, 
who,  as  William  progressed  towards  recovery,  was  constantly  keep- 
ing alive  within  him  some  reports  of  the  successes  of  the  crew,  of 
their  kind  inquiries  after  his  health,  and  the  hopes  they  had  of  soon 
seeing  him  among  them.     Independently  of  this,  there  came  pre- 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  49 

scuts  and  compliments  from  Captain  Bargood,  and  these  increased 
as  Laud  recovered. 

Xothing  so  much  stung  Margaret's  heart  as  to  find  that  all  her 
attentions,  prayers,  entreaties,  and  admonitions,  were  counteracted 
by  the  secret  influences  of  these  agencies  ;  but  her  object  was  a 
righteous  one,  and  she  did  not  slacken  in  her  endeavours  to  attain 
it.  She  found,  as  Laud  gradually  recovered,  that  he  was  fully 
sensible  of  his  past  folly,  and  quite  alive  to  the  devoted  affection 
she  had  shown  to  him  ;  but  she  found  also  that  no  touch  of  reli- 
gious feeling  blended  with  his  regret  for  his  past  conduct. 

This  gave  her  the  deepest  pang,  for  she  would  rather  have  heard 
him  offer  one  thanksgiving  to  the  Being  to  Whom  all  thanks  are 
due,  than  find  herself  the  object  of  his  praise  and  gratitude. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  Margaret  wished  she  had  been  a  scholar. 
There  was  a  Bible  in  the  cottage,  an  old  black-letter  edition,  con- 
taining the  Book  of  Common  Prayer,  the  genealogies  recorded  in 
the  sacred  Scriptures,  together  with  the  Psalms  of  David,  in  metre, 
by  Sternhold  and  Hopkins,  with  curious  old  diamond-headed  notes 
of  the  tunes  to  each  psalm. 

Margaret  would  gladly  have  read  the  holy  book  to  her  lover,  but 
she  might  as  well  have  had  a  Hebrew  edition  before  her,  for  not  a 
word  could  she  decipher.  He  could  read,  and  her  only  way  of 
inducing  him  so  to  do  was  by  expressing  her  desire  to  hear  him 
read.  She  found  this,  however,  a  difficult  and  dangerous  task,  for, 
independently  of  the  distaste  which  the  old  woman  had  to  the 
Bible,  she  found  her  lover  very  restless  and  feverish  after  any 
exertion  of  the  kind.  Where  the  spirit  is  unwilling,  how  irksome 
is  the  task  ! 

"  How  plain  is  that  description  you  read  to  me  this  morning  of 
our  first  parents'  fall,"  said  Margaret  one  day,  when  the  enemy  was 
absent  :  "  how  plainly  it  shows  us  the  necessity  of  our  denying 
ourselves  anything  and  everything  which  God  has  forbidden  us  1  " 

'•  It  does,  indeed,  Margaret ;  but  no  man  can  help  sinning  1 " 

u  I  doubt  that — I  think  Adam  could  have  done  so." 

"  Then  why  did  he  sin,  Margaret?  " 

<;  You  read  to  me,  that  the  woman  tempted  him  or  persuaded 
him,  and  that  the  serpent  beguiled  her  into  sin  :  so  that  the 
serpent  was  the  author  of  sin." 

"  Yes  ;  and  the  woman  was  first  deceived,  and  then  deceived  her 
husband.     You  must  admit  that  she  was  the  worst  of  the  two." 


50  THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

"  I  own  that  she  was,  and  is  the  weakest ;  but  her  sorrows 
appear  to  have  been  the  greater,  and  she  has  been  little  better 
than  a  slave   to  man  ever  since." 

"  Well,  Margaret,  well,  you  have  been  very  kind  to  me,  and  I 
know  now  that  you  are  a  good  girl,  and  wish  me  to  be  good.  I 
wish  I  may  be  better." 

11  Do  not  only  wish  it,  dear  William,  but  pray  to  God  to  make 
you  so,  and  I  do  think  that  He  will." 

"  Well,  well,  I  will  be  better — yes,  I  will,  if  T  get  over  this  blow 
on  the  head  ;  but  oh,  how  it  aches  !  You  must  not  bewilder  me 
too  much." 

So  did  this  interesting  conversation  cease,  by  the  man's  appeal 
to  his  want  of  strength,  when  he  was  asserting  a  will  of  his  own, 
which,  though  bold  in  words,  was  but  fickle  in  actions. 

Every  day,  as  her  patient  advanced  towards  recovery,  was  poor 
Margaret  more  and  more  convinced  that  Laud  wanted  stability  of 
purpose  to  resist  evil, — he  was,  like  every  passionate  man,  self- 
willed  and  wicked.  Margaret,  though  at  this  time  uneducated, 
had  been  a  very  attentive  listener  to  all  good  instruction — she  was 
far  from  being  ignorant  of  right  and  wrong.  Her  principles  were 
good,  and  through  her  most  eventful  years  she  exhibited  but  one 
great  error,  which  was  her  blind  passion  for  the  unhappy  man 
whom  she  would  have  made,  if  she  could,  a  better  being  ;  and 
every  day  she  found  a  more  persevering  enemy  in  Mrs.  Mitchel, 
who  counteracted  all  her  salutary  influence  with  him.  Silent  and 
morose  as  this  woman  was  at  times,  she  could  be  loquacious 
enough  when  it  suited  her  own  purpose. 

"I  have,"  said  she,  one  day,  "just  left  a  choice  set  of  fellows 
upon  the  beach,  as  merry  a  set,  Will,  as  I  ever  saw,  and  all  rejoic- 
ing in  your  improvement.  Luff  holds  your  office  until  you  join 
them  again.  They  have  had  a  fine  success  lately,  since  young 
Barry  is  laid  by  the  leg.  I  have  brought  you  a  box  of  raisins,  and 
such  a  choice  can  of  sweetmeats,  as  a  present  from  the  captain." 

"Ah  !  they  are  all  good  fellows,  but  I  do  not  think  that  I  shall 
ever  join  them  again." 

"  Pshaw,  my  lad  !  this  is  only  a  love-fit  for  the  moment."  (Mar- 
garet was  absent  upon  an  errand.)  "If  that  girl  does  not  know 
what  it  is  to  have  a  high-spirited  young  fellow  like  yourself  for  a- 
lover,  without  making  him  a  poor,  tame,  milk-and-water  poodle, 
why  then  she  ought  to  make  herself  always  as  scarce  as    she  i* 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  t;  1 

at  this  moment.  I  have  no  patience  with  the  girl — she  dc^es  not 
know  her  own  interest.  I  suppose  she  would  have  you  stick  to  the 
plough's  tail,  or  toil  all  day  at  the  spade,  and  bring  her  home  a 
hard-earned  pittance  at  the  week's  end.  Pshaw !  Will,  you  are 
formed  for  better  things." 

"  But  she's  a  good  girl,  Moggy,''  said  Will. 

"  Oh,  ay  !  the  girl  is  well  enough,  and  decent  too.  I  don't  mean 
to  say  she  would  not  make  a  chap  a  good  sort  of  wife  either,  but 
she's  not  the  sort  of  girl  for  you,  Will.  She's  no  spirit  about  her. 
She  don't  see  how  a  young  fellow  like  you  can  do  better  by  her,  in 
a  bold,  dashing  way,  than  by  such  tame,  dull,  plodding  industry 
as  her  family  use." 

"  No  ;  but  then  she  wishes  to  see  me  happy,  and  I  might  be 
popped  off  the  next  skirmish." 

"  You  always  look  on  the  black  side  of  things.  Here  are  your 
fellows  making  their  fortunes  rapidly,  and  you  talk:ng  of  drudging 
on  in  a  quiet,  stupid  way,  with  the  chance  of  being  informed  against 
and  executed  for  your  past  doings.  Young  Barry  won't  easily 
forgive  you." 

"Nor  I  him,  either,"  was  the  significant  reply,  with  a  clenching 
of  the  fist  and  a  grinding  of  the  teeth,  which  proved  how  artfully 
the  hag  had  worked  upon  Laud's  worst  feelings. 

Margaret,  on  her  return,  could  perceive  that  her  absence  had  been 
taken  advantage  of  to  effect  a  purpose  adverse  to  all  her  hopes. 

Against  all  these  disadvantages,  however,  Margaret  combated 
with  some  success,  and  by  degrees  had  the  happiness  of  seeing 
her  patient  get  the  better  of  his  sufferings.  The  wound  have 
healed  sooner  and  better,  had  Laud's  mind  been  kept  free  from 
feverish  excitement.  It  did  heal  up,  though  not  so  well  as  Mar 
garet  wished— a  frightful  scar  extended  over  the  os  fvontis,  directly 
to  the  high  cheek-bone.  For  a  long  time  the  eye  seemed  as  if  it 
had  perished,  but  as  the  fever  abated  its  sight  returned. 

It  will  be  sufficient  to  record,  that  in  due  time  Laud  perfectly 
recovered,  and  the  services  of  his  nurses  became  no  longer 
necessary. 

If  at  this  time  any  situation  had  offered  itself  by  which  Laud 
could  have  gained  an  honest  livelihood,  he  would  probably  have 
accepted  it,  and  become  an  honest  man  ;  and  in  talking  with 
Margaret  of  his  future  life,  he  promised  that  she  would  never 
again   hear   of  anything  against  him.      He  would  go  to   sea,  and 

4 


52  THE    HISTORY    OF   MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

earn   an   honest   livelihood,   even   if   he   was  obliged   to   serve   a 
foreigner. 

"  Well,  Laud,  I  will  trust  you  again,''  said  Margaret,  on  the  day 
she  took  her  leave  of  him:  "I  will  trust  you  again,  William,  though 
my  heart  aches  bitterly  at  parting  with  you,  whilst  you  have  no 
regular  employment,  but  I  shall  pray  for  you  wherever  I  am.  I 
shall  probably  go  to  service  soon,  for  I  do  not  like  to  be  a  burthen 
to  my  friends."  i 

They  parted  affectionately,  for  Laud  felt  that  he  owed  his  life 
to  her  care  ;  and  she,  that  all  her  hopes  of  future  comfort  in  this 
life  were  centred  in  his  welfare.  Yet  that  very  night  did  William 
Laud  meet  his  former  comrades,  and  was  persuaded  to  join  their 
crew  at  the  Bawdsey  Cave,  to  assume  the  name  of  Hudson,  and 
to  become  again  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  desperate  smuggler. 

We  will  not  follow  him  through  his  career  of  guilt  ;  suffice  it  to 
say,  that  he  contrived  to  send  word  to  Margaret  that  he  had  entered 
into  the  service  of  a  Dutch  trader,  and  was  promised  a  future 
share  of  his  ship.  He  pretended  to  have  quitted  the  society  of 
the  smugglers,  who  at  that  time  so  infested  the  eastern  coasts  of 
this  country  ;  and  as  she  heard  no  more  of  his  name,  and  received 
no  more  suspicious  presents,  she  suffered  her  heart  to  cherish  the 
fond  hope  of  his  reformation. 

The  anticipation  of  days  to  come,  and  the  promised  pleasuro  of 
those  days,  are  always  greater  than  are  ever  realized  by  mortals. 
It  is,  however,  one  of  the  greatest  blessings  of  life  to  anticipate 
good.  The  hope,  too,  of  another's  welfare,  and  of  being  the  humble 
instrument  of  promoting  the  interest  of  another,  is  the  sweetest 
bond  of  woman's  cherished  affection.  Truly  may  such  be  termed 
man's  helpmate,  who  would  do  him  good,  and  not  evil,  all  the  days 
of  his  life. 

Poor  Margaret  found,  that  the  more  she  hoped  for  Laud's 
amendment,  the  more  constant  became  her  attachment,  the  more 
she  excused  his  past  life,  and  the  more  deeply  her  heart  became 
engaged  to  him, 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPJLE.  53 

CHAPTER    Y. 

WILD    SCENES. 

MARGARET,  true  to  her  intentions  of  going  to  service,  found  a 
kind  friend  in  Mrs.  Denton,  who  recommended  her  to  3Ir<- 
Wake,  of  the  Priory  Farm,  Downham  Reach.  Here,  in  September 
1792,  she  took  up  her  abode  as  servant-of-all-work.  The  whole 
farm-house  was  formerly  the  priory  of  a  small  body  of  Augustine 
Monks,  and  was  known  by  the  name  of  the  Alneshbourne  Priory. 
It  is  surrounded  by  a  moat  of  considerable  depth  and  breadth, 
and  was  formerly  approached  by  a  drawbridge  from  the  southern 
side. 

The  site  of  this  old  house  is  still  a  most  romantic  and  sequestered 
^pot.  In  front  of  it,  along  a  pleasant  green  slope  to  the  shore, 
runs  a  rippling  stream,  which  having  passed  through  the  moat, 
meanders  along  the  meadow  down  to  the  Orwell,  whose  broad 
waters  look  here  like  a  magnificent  lake. 

Oji  either  side  of  the  valley  rise  the  rich  woods  of  Downham 
Reach  ;  and  behind  the  house,  in  the  green  meadows,  may  still  be 
seen,  though  now  covered  in  with  a  roof  and  used  as  a  barn,  the 
chapel  of  this  sequestered  fraternity. 

Lofty  elms  overshadow  the  summit  of  this  ancient  house,  though 
chey  grow  upon  the  open  space  beyond  the  moat ;  and  the  woods 
of  the  owner  of  the  present  house  and  the  district,  Sir  Philip 
Broke,  stand  conspicuously  towering  on  the  sides  of  the  hills.  The 
lover  of  peaceful  nature  could  not  fail  to  be  struck  with  the  tran- 
quil yet  picturesque  scenery  around  this  spot.  Here  Gainsborough, 
who,  in  his  younger  days,  was  much  encouraged  by  Dr.  Coyte  of 
Ipswich,  loved  to  roam,  and  catch  the  ever-varying  tints  of  spring 
and  autumn.  Here  Constable, — the  enthusiastic,  amiable,  but 
pensive  John  Constable,  one  of  the  best  of  England's  landscape- 
painters, — indulged  himself  in  all  the  hopes  of  his  aspiring  genius  ; 
and  Frost,  a  native  of  Ipswich,  one  of  the  best  imitators  of  Gains- 
borough's style,  and  whose  sketches  are  at  this  day  most  highly 
esteemed,  used  to  indulge  himself  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  his  art. 

At  the  period  we  write  of— the  year  1792— the  Orwell's  waves 
went  boldly  up  to  the  port,  as  new  and  briny  as  in  the  days  of  the 
Danish  invasion.     Now  they  no  longer  wash  the  town.     A  wet- 


54  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

dock,  with  its  embankments  and  its  locks,  shuts  out  the  ebb  and 
flow  of  waters,  and  may  be  convenient  to  the  inhabitants  of  the 
place  ;  but  sadly  interferes  with  the  early  associations  and  recollec- 
tions of  those  who,  like  the  writer  of  this  narrative,  passed  theit 
boyish  years  upon  the  banks  of  the  Orwell. 

But  we  must  no  longer  wander  from  our  narrative.  Margaret, 
as  servant  at  the  Priory  Farm,  conducted  herself  in  so  exemplary 
a  manner,  that  she  soon  gained  the  good  will  of  her  master  and 
mistress,  and  the  good  word  of  all  the  labourers  upon  the  farm. 
Amongst  these  latter  was  a  young  man  who  was  particularly  ac- 
quainted with  Margaret's  history,  and  whose  name  has  occurred  in 
a  previous  chapter.  This  was  no  other  than  John  Barry,  the  elder 
brother  of  young  Edward  Barry,  who  so  gallantly  led  the  attack 
upon  the  smugglers  on  the  night  in  which  Will  Laud  was  supposed 
to  have  been  killed.  John  was  well  aware  of  Margaret's  attach- 
ment and  engagement  to  Will  Laud  ;  and  he  knew  the  part  his 
brother  had  taken  in  the  conflict;  ani  believed,  as  Edward  told 
him,  that  he  had  slain  Margaret's  lover.  Whether  it  was  the  sym- 
pathy which  arose  toward  the  poor  girl  under  these  circumstances, 
or  the  real  pleasure  which  he  felt  in  her  society,  it  is  certain  that 
he  became  so  deeply  enamoured  as  never  to  be  able  to  root  out  of 
his  mind  this  his  first  and  last  attachment. 

This  young  man  was  a  contrast  in  every  respect  to  Will  Laud. 
John  Barry  was  the  elder  son  of  a  small  farmer  and  miller  at 
Levington,  who,  having  a  numerous  family,  was  anxious  they 
should  all  be  employed.  John,  as  was  customary  in  that  day, 
sought  employment  away  from  his  parents'  house.  He  had  asked 
their  permission  to  let  him  turn  his  hand  to  farming  for  a  year  ; 
and  as  he  was  already  a  good  ploughman,  and  understood  the 
various  methods  of  culture,  he  readily  found  an  employer.  He 
was  also  as  good  a  scholar  for  that  period  as  could  be  found  in  any 
of  the  adjoining  parishes.  Added  to  this,  he  was  a  good-principled, 
steady,  persevering,  industrious  young  man.  His  father  was  not 
badly  off  in  the  world  for  his  station.  He  it  was  who  first  dis- 
covered the  use  of  crag-shells  for  manure.  His  man,  Edmund 
Edwards,  finding  a  load  or  two  of  manure  was  wanted  to  complete 
the  fertilisation  of  a  field  which  Mr.  Barry  cultivated,  carried  a 
load  or  two  of  the  crag,  which  lay  near  the  mill,  to  make  it  up. 
He  observed,  that  in  the  very  place  which  he  thought  would 
prove  the  worst  crop,  on  account  of  the  seeming  poverty  of  the 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  55 

soil  carted,  there  arose  the  most  luxuriant  produce.  Next  year 
Mr.  Barry  used  it  more  freely,  and  found  a  more  abundant  recom- 
pense. He  then  opened  immense  crag-pits,  supplied  the  country 
around,  and  shipped  a  large  quantity  at  Levington  Creek.  By 
these  means  he  became  known  as  an  enterprising  man.  His  second 
son  took  to  the  sea,  and  became  active  in  the  service  of  his  native 
coast.  Another  son  went  out  to  America,  and  did  remarkably  well. 
John  went  as  head  man  to  Mr.  Wake,  of  the  Priory  Farm. 
When  he  left  his  father's  house,  the  worthy  miller  gave  him  one 
guinea,  with  this  advice — 

"  Many  a  man,  John,  has  entered  into  the  world  with  less  than 
that,  and  by  industry,  integrity,  and  good  behaviour,  has  risen  to 
usefulness  and  respectability  ;  and  many  a  man,  John,  who  has 
entered  upon  life  with  thousands  and  thousands  of  those  shining 
coins,  has  sunk  to  worthlessness  and  degradation.  Go,  boy  ;  be 
honest,  sober,  steady,  and  diligent.  Keep  your  Church  and  God's 
commandments,  John,  and  you  will  prosper.  But  should  misfor- 
tune ever  visit  you,  remember  that  whilst  your  mother  and  I  live 
you  will  always  find  a  welcome  home.  God  bless  you,  boy  !  God 
bless  you  ! " 

John  left  home,  with  a  guinea  in  his  pocket  and  with  love  in  his 

heart.     He  did  well,  even  in  his  first  situation.     He  lived  in  the 

farm-house  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wake,  about  seven  miles  from  his 

father's  house.     He  did  not  then  dream  that  he  should  ever  visit 

any  distant  shore  connected  with  his  native  country.    His  dreams 

were  of  home,  industry,  and  peace.    He  had  enough — was  contented 

— was  well  respected  ;  had  good  health  and  full  employment,  and 

was  a  burthen  to  no  one.     From  his  constant  habit  of  witnessing 

the   energy,   and    activity,  and  good  disposition  of   the  youthful 

Margaret,  and  from  a  certain  knowledge  of  her  past  misfortunes, 

he  imbibed  a  delicacy  of  interest  in  her  behalf,  which  was  shown 

to  her  by  repeated  acts  of  respect,  which  others  on  the  farm  less 

delicate  did  not  care  to  show.    Margaret  herself  perceived  these 

attentions,  and  felt  grateful  to  him  for  them.     Whilst  some  would 

now  and  then  relate   what  they  heard  of  the  wild  adventures  of 

Hudson  the  smuggler,  John  Barry  always  carefully  concealed  any 

mention  of  matters  which  he  could  see  gave  her  pain.     So  cautious 

had  been  his  advances  towards  a  more  intimate  acquaintance  with 

Margaret,  that  no  one  on  the  farm  suspected  that  John  Barry,  the 

son  of  the  well-to-do  Mr.   Barry,  of  Levington,  was  in  the  least 


56  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

captivated  by  the  humble  maid  of  the  Priory.  Margaret,  however, 
suspected  and  dreaded  that  such  might  be  the  case  ;  and  she  avoided 
him  as  pointedly  as  she  could,  without  offence  to  one  whom  she  so 
much  respected.  Barry,  however,  was  too  honest  to  conceal  hia 
feelings  from  the  only  person  he  wished  to  know  them.  Returning 
one  evening  from  work  along  Gainsborough's  Lane,  he  met  Margaret, 
who  had  been  to  Sawyer's  Farm  upon  an  errand  for  her  mistress. 

"  Margaret,  you  know  I  love  you,"  said  the  young  man,  "  though 
I  do  not  believe  that  any  one  upon  the  farm  besides  yourself  has 
any  idea  of  it." 

"  I  feared  you  did,  John,  and  it  grieves  me  very  much  to  hear 
you  say  so." 

"  But  why  should  it  grieve  you  ?  I  love  you  honestly,  and  will 
always  do  my  best  to  make  you  happy." 

"  Yes,  John,  I  do  not  doubt  you  in  anything  you  say,  and  I  feel 
very  grateful  to  you  for  your  kindness;  but  I  cannot  return  your 
love." 

"  Why  not,  Margaret  ?  Why  should  you  not  learn  to  like  me  V 
1  am  not  indeed  like  your  former  lover,  but  I  think  I  love  you 
quite  as  well." 

"That  may  be  also,  John  ;  but  when  I  tell  you  that  it  is  impos- 
sible for  me  to  suffer  you  to  cherish  such  feelings,  you  will,  I  hope, 
not  be  angry  with  me." 

'•'  I  am  not  angry  :  I  know  your  past  attachment  ;  but  I  hope 
that  you  do  not  intend  to  live  and  die  single  because  Laud  is 
dead." 

"  No  ;  but  whilst  he  lives,  John,  I  neither  can  nor  ought  to  give 
encouragement  to  any  other." 

"  But  he  is  dead  !  " 

"  I  would  let  any  one  else  but  yourself  suppose  so." 

"  My  brother  Edward  told  me  himself  that  he  saw  him  fall." 

"  Yes,  John,  and  your  brother  Edward  thought  that  he  gave 
him  his  death-blow  ;  but  I  am  happy,  for  his  sake  and  for  Laud's, 
that  it  was  not  so." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  this?"  sighed  the  youth,  as  if  he  half  regretted 
that  his  brother  had  not  done  so.     "  Are  you  sure  of  this  ?  " 

"  Quite  so — quite  so  !     To  no  one  else  would  I  speak  it,  but  I 
am  sure  of  your  goodness.     I  know  you  will  not  betray  me." 

"  Never,  Margaret,  never  !  " 

"  Well,  then,  these  very  hands  healed    the  wound  which  your 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  57 

brother  gave  him.  I  myself  nursed  him  through  his  dangerous 
illness  ;  and  I  know  at  this  time  that  he  is  in  a  respectable  foreign 
merchant's  service,  and  as  well  as  ever  he  was." 

This  was  a  tremendous  blow  to  the  young  man's  prospects  ;  an 
answer  which  he  did  not  in  the  least  expect,  and  from  which  he 
could  find  no  encouragement.  He  begged  Margaret's  pardon  for 
what  he  had  said,  which  was  freely  given,  and  a  promise  made 
on  both  sides  never  to  divulge  that  day's  secret.  Alas  !  this  promise 
was  broken  by  both,  as  we  shall  presently  see,  at  the  very  same 
moment. 

But  where  is  Laud,  and  what  is  he  doing  at  this  time  ?  While 
the  honest-hearted  girl  is  denying  all  attachment  to  any  but  himself, 
and  living  upon  the  hope  of  his  future  welfare  and  well-doing,  what 
is  he  about  ? 

He  is  standing  at  the  Green  Cottage,  as  it  was  called,  on  account 
of  the  green  shutters  which  used  to  shade  its  casements,  close  to 
Butley  Abbey.  The  dark-frowning  ruin  of  this  seat  of  the  black 
canons  of  St.  Austin,  formerly  so  grand  and  extensive,  was  then 
in  a  state  of  crumbling  desolation.  Here,  close  against  that  magni- 
ficent old  gateway,  seemingly  in  mock  grandeur,  was  a  very  fine 
arch,  surmounted  with  the  arms  of  Michael  de  la  Pole,  the  third 
Lord  Wingfield.  Earl  of  Suffolk,  who  was  slain  at  the  battle  of 
Agincourt  with  Edward  Plantagenet,  Duke  of  York. 

Not  far  from  these  ruins,  with  a  mind  somewhat  partaking  of 
the  darkness  of  that  desolation,  stood  Laud  and  Luff  in  close  con- 
versation ;  the  subject  of  which  was  no  other  than  Margaret 
Catchpole  ! 

Luff  had  found  out  Laud's  deep-rooted  fancy  for  the  maiden, 
and,  villain  as  he  was.  wa3  proposing  a  deep-laid  scheme  for  the 
destruction  of  the  poor  girl,  who  at  that  very  time  was  undergoing 
a  severe  trial  of  her  affection. 

aI'U  tell  you  what,  Laud,  the  thing  is  easily  to  be  done.  We 
have  nothing  to  do  but  to  run  the  cutter,  at  the  beginning  of 
our  next  voyage,  into  Harwich  Harbour,  at  the  fall  of  the  evening, 
when  the  mists  hide  us  from  the  shore  ;  you  and  I  can  run  up 
the  Orwell  in  the  gig,  and  soon  carry  off  the  prize.  Once  on  board 
and  she  is  yours  as  long  as  you  like." 

11 1  think  I  shall  leave  the  service  and  marry." 

"  And  get  a  halter  for  your  pains  !  No,  Will ;  no,  my  boy  ;  you 
are  made  of  sterner  stuff  than  that.     What !  for  the  sake  of  a  girl 


58  THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

whom  you  may  have  for  many  a  cruise,  and  who  will  like  you  all 
the  better  for  your  spirit,  would  you  consent  to  run  the  land- 
robbers  risk  of  being  hanged ?  You  will  soon  have  a  new  cutter, 
and  your  old  crew  ;  and  though  we  may  have  a  long  voyage, 
surely  it  will  be  far  better  to  have  your  damsel  with  you,  though 
she  may  be  unwilling  at  first,  than  to  be  hving  ashore  in  continual 
fear  of  the  officers  of  justice." 

"But  Margaret  supposes  me  at  this  moment  in  a  foreign  ship, 
and  in  an  honest  trader." 

"  Let  her  think  so  still.  Only  once  get  her  on  board  the  Stour, 
and  never  trust  me  if  we  don't  quickly  run  over  to  Holland,  get 
you  decently  married,  and  you  may  settle  with  her  on  shore  in  a 
short  time." 

"Well.  Luff,  I  think  it  might  be  done,  and  fairly,  too  ;  and  if  it 
be,  you  shall  have  half  my  share  of  the  prize  upon  the  next 
run.'' 

"  Tis  a  bargain  —'tis  a  bargain !  and  when  we  next  meet  in 
Bawdsey  Cave,  our  first  trip  shall  be  for  the  harbour.  In  the 
meantime,  let  us  enjoy  ourselves  as  we  can." 

The  Green  Cottage  just  mentioned,  was  one  of  those  places 
hired  by  Captain  Bargood,  on  the  eastern  coast,  which  was  always 
kept  neat  and  ready  for  his  occupation  by  a  dame  whom  he  per- 
mitted to  live  in  it  rent-free,  and  paid  her  something  extra  too  for 
housekeeping.  This  was  a  place  of  resort  for  his  captains  when 
out  of  immediate  employ,  when  his  ships  were  repairing  or  building, 
at  home  or  abroad.  The  method  he  took  to  secure  their  services, 
and  to  keep  them  in  readiness  for  the  sea,  was  to  initiate  them  into 
the  mysteries  of  poaching  when  on  land. 

So  well  did  this  bohl  fellow  play  his  card3,  that  his  men  seldom 
wanted  employment. 

Game  they  always  had,  in  season  or  out  of  season — no  matter — ■ 
they  stuck  at  nothing  !  If  they  wished  for  a  good  custard  at 
Whitsuntide,  and  made  of  the  richest  eggs,  they  would  have 
pheasants'  and  partridges'  eggs  by  hundreds.  In  fact  these  smug- 
glers were  c.s  well  known  for  poachers  by  many  of  the  people  on 
the  coast,  as  they  were  for  dealers  in  contraband  goods.  They,  too, 
enjoyed  the  keen  zest  of  the  sportsman  in  tenfold  a  manner,  if  the 
excitement  of  the  field,  the  danger  of  the  enterprise,  and  the  success 
of  the  sporb,  be  any  criterion  by  which  the  pleasure  of  such  things 
may  be  estimated. 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  59 

Tame,  indeed,  they  considered  the  turn-out  of  the  Marquis  of 
Hertford,  with  his  green-brogued  keepers,  and  their  double-barrelled - 
guns  and  brushes,  for  a  walk,  or  rather  a  stand,  at  the  end  of  a 
plantation,  where  the  pheasants  rose  in  a  shower,  and  were  killed 
Ilk"*  barn-door  fowls.  They  often  saw  the  noble  sportsmen  turn 
into  those  coverts,  against  which  they  knew  they  had  been  such 
successful  poachers  the  very  night  before. 

If  hairbreadth  e:capes,  contests  with  keepers,  making  nets,  snares, 
and  gins,  were  amusements  to  these  fellows,  they  had  enough  of 
them.  They  could,  upon  occasion,  bribe  an  unsteady  keeper,  or 
make  him  drunk,  and  go  his  beat  for  him.  All  manner  of  desperate 
adventures  were  their  pleasures.  Sometimes  their  soeiety  was 
courted  by  farmers  and  others,  who  chanced  to  know,  and  would 
occasionally  entertain  them.  Their  knowledge  of  all  that  was  going 
on  in  and  out  of  the  country  made  them  welcome  visitors  to  others; 
and  in  a  very  dangerous  period  of  our  struggle  at  Flushing,  when 
an  order  from  the  coast  was  to  be  carried  in  spite  of  danger  and 
difficulty,  the  intelligence  and  spirit  of  these  men  were  made  use 
of  by  some  in  power,  who  could  never  countenance  them  openly. 

One  instance  of  a  singular  kind  of  frolic  may  here  be  mentioned, 
which  might  have  been  of  serious  consequence  to  a  young  min  of 
fortune. 

This  gentleman  resided  in  his  own  house,  and  upon  hi3  own 
estate,  not  far  from  Hollesley  Bay ;  and  though  possessed  of  many 
broad  acres,  abundantly  supplied  with  every  species  of  game 
common  to  that  country,  yet,  singularly  enough,  he  was  an  ex- 
ception to  that  prevalent  habit  of  all  country  gentlemen  — the  being 
a  sportsman.  The  writer  of  these  pages  has  often  heard  him 
narrate  the  following  facts  : — 

Laud,  or  rather  Hudson,  as  he  was  then  called  (tor  Laud  was 
generally  supposed  to  be  dead),  met  thi3  young  man  at  the  Boy  ton 
Alms-houses,  when  the  following  conversation  arose  : — ■ 

"Good  morning  to  you,  captain.  But  little  stirring  at  sea,  I 
sappo:e  ?  " 

'•  "We're  ashore  awhile  upon  a  cruise." 

"  So  I  suppose.     "What  taek  do  you  go  upon  to-night  ?  " 

"  That  I  know  not,  sir  ;  but  not  hereabouts.  We  shall  probably 
run  down  to  Orford.-' 

11 1  know  you  are  all  good  hands.  I  never  went  sporting  in  my 
life,  and  never  saw  any  poaching.     Now,  captain,  it's  no  use  being 


60  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCIIPOLE. 

qualmish  upon  the  subject,  but  upon  my  word  I  should  like  to  see 
how  you  poachers  manage  to  take  your  game.  You  need  not  fear 
that  I  should  inform  against  you,  or  take  advantage  of  your  secrets 
— for  I  am  no  sportsman,  as  you  know,  and  care  as  little  about 
game  as  any  man  ;  but  I  have  heard  so  much  of  your  adroitness, 
and  of  the  methodical  manner  in  which  you  proceed,  that  I  really 
should  like  to  see  it.  Come,  what  shall  I  give  you  to  take  me  with 
you  to-night  ?  " 

The  smuggler  looked  at  him  with  a  very  significant  countenance, 
as  much  as  to  say,  "  Are  you  in  earnest  ?  May  I  trust  you  ?  ,? 
It  was  very  few  he  thought  he  could  trust ;  but  there  was  a  sim- 
plicity and  honesty,  a  straightforward  singleness  of  mind,  and  such 
a  real,  truthful  heartiness  of  character  about  the  young  man,  that 
a  far  less  shrewd  man  than  Laud  could  see  there  was  no  danger  in 
him.  So  far  from  ever  intending  evil  to  any  one,  he  was  kind  even 
to  a  fault :  witness  his  veiy  treatment  of  such  a  man  as  Laud. 
He  had  often  seen  him  about  his  marshes,  or  along  the  river's  side, 
or  in  the  village,  or  upon  the  heath.  He  knew  what  Hudson  was  ; 
and  like  many  others  in  that  retired  country,  became  an  occasional 
talker  with  him,  even  upon  the  subject  of  smuggling.  He  knew 
that  his  own  horses  came  in  for  a  share  of  night- work,  as  well  as 
his  neighbours'  ;  but  he  always  found  himself  well  treated  by  the 
smugglers,  and  frequently  acknowledged  the  receipt  of  some  accept- 
able present.  He  knew  the  habits  of  poaching  which  these  seamen 
enjoyed  ashore,  and  he  never  interrupted  them.  His  own  lands 
were  always  abounding  in  game  for  his  friends,  and  he  never  knew 
that  they  were  poached. 

"  Well,  captain,  what  say  you  ?     Will  you  take  me  ?  " 

"  That  I  will,  with  all  my  heart.     Where  will  you  meet  me  ?  " 

"  Where  you  like.     Where  shall  it  be  ?  " 

"  Suppose  my  messmate  and  I  call  you  at  eleven  o'clock  ?  We 
can  take  a  glass  of  grog  with  you,  and  perhaps  use  your  own  cart 
and  horse.  We  shall  most  likely  go  to  Iken  or  Orford.  But  I  will 
see  my  mate,  and  have  everything  arranged,  and  be  with  you  by 
eleven." 

The  honest  bachelor  who  had  made  this  appointment  with  Laud 
and  Luff,  had  no  idea  of  his  temerity  and  of  the  danger  of  the  deed. 
He  saw  only,  for  the  time,  a  certain  mystery,  which  he  wished  to 
see  unravelled,  and  forgot  all  the  penalties  the  law  attached  to  it. 

Our  worthy  bachelor  received  his  two  promising  visitors  at  eleven 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  6l 

o'clock,  having  first  sent  every  servant  to  bed,  and  parted  with  an 
aged  mother,  who  was  ignorant,  blessedly  ignorant,  of  her  son's 
movements  at  such  a  time  of  night ;  Laud  and  Luff  were  let  into 
the  house  ;  they  came,  partook  of  his  good  cheer,  and  then  opened 
upon  the  subject  of  their  campaign. 

They  told  him  their  intention  to  have  a  drag  over  some  of  the 
stubbles  of  the  Marquis  of  Hertford's  estate,  between  Iken  and 
Orford,  and  they  instructed  him  in  the  plan  of  operation.  Five 
men  were  to  meet  them  in  the  lane  leading  down  to  Iken  \Vood  : 
taey  carried  a  net  capable  of  covering  four  furrows.  Not  a  single 
word  must  be  spoken.  Five  would  drag  in  front,  and  three  behind; 
one  was  to  hold  the  check-string,  by  which  an  alarm  was  conveyed 
to  every  one  who  had  hold  of  the  net.  Jn  case  of  a  sudden  jerk  at 
this  string,  each  person  dropped  his  hold  of  the  net,  and  ran  for 
the  nearest  hedge,  where  he  concealed  himself  until  he  heard  the 
signal  to  join  forces  again,  which  signal  was  for  that  night  the 
crowing  of  a  cock.  When  by  sundry  kicks  in  the  net  they  found 
that  game  was  enclosed,  they  were  to  drop  the  net,  at  the  sound 
of  a  small  reed  whistle,  so  low  as  only  to  be  heard  by  those  who 
were  at  a  short  distance.  As  the  young  host  was  only  a  novice,  it 
was  proposed  that  he  should  take  his  station  between  Hudson  and 
Luff,  his  two  visitors. 

After  all  proper  hints  had  been  repeated,  and  these  worthies  had 
sufficiently  regaled  themselves,  they  all  went  to  the  cart-lodge  ; 
took  out  the  market-cart,  harnessed  the  old  chestnut  gelding,  some- 
thing between  a  cart-horse  and  a  roadster,  and  off  they  started  for 
as  novel  an  expedition  as  ever  any  man  of  fortune  undertook. 

Will  the  reader  believe  that  a  man  of  good  character — ay,  and  as 
honest,  upright,  good-natured,  kind-hearted,  and  benevolent  a  man, 
as  any  of  his  rank  and  condition — a  man  of  an  intelligent  and 
im warped  mind — and  one  who  through  life  was  looked  upon  as 
good  a  neighbour  as  could  be — should  so  forget  himself  as  to  trust 
his  reputation,  his  honour — his  very  life  and  happiness  (for  at  that 
time  the  Game  Laws  were  very  severe),  between  two  as  great 
rascals  as  ever  stole  a  head  of  game,  or  shot  a  fellow-creature,  in 
the  frenzy  of  their  career  ? 

The  reader  must  imagine  a  man  far  above  all  want,  and  with 
every  blessing  which  an  abundant  fortune  could  supply,  without 
any  idea  of  intending  an  affront  to  the  lord  of  Orford,  or  any  of 
his  affluent   neighbours,  seated  in  his  own  luggage-cart,  with  his 


62  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

very  name  written  in  large  letters,  X.  Y.  Z.,  Esq.,  with  his  place  of 
abode  upon  it !  He  must  imagine  such  a  man,  trusting  himself 
between  two  notorious  characters  merely  for  the  spree  of  the 
moment,  and  purely  for  the  sake  of  curiosity,  running  the  risk  of 
losing  his  character  and  his  liberty,  and  yet  without  a  thought 
of  his  danger.  Yet  the  tale  is  as  true  as  it  is  strange.  Had  not 
the  writer  heard  the  subject  of  it  often  declare  the  fact,  he  should 
have  believed  it  impossible. 

They  are  off,  however,  and  Luff  is  the  driver.  As  if  acquainted 
with  his  horse,  and  his  horse  with  him,  they  went  at  a  rate  which 
astonished  even  the  owner  of  the  animal.  He  had  said,  "  Let  me 
drive,  for  I  understand  his  humour  ;  "  but  he  found  that  another 
understood  his  own  horse  as  well  as  himself.  This  brute  was  like 
a  donkey  in  one  respect.  Except  you  gave  him  a  jerk  with  the 
rein,  and  at  the  same  time  gave  a  rap  on  the  sides  of  the  cart,  you 
could  not  get  him  to  move.  What,  then,  was  the  surprise  of  the 
Squire  to  find  that  a  stranger  could  make  the  old  horse  go  as  well 
as  he  could.  But  not  a  word  was  to  be  spoken — so  in  silence  he 
brooded  over  the  singular  knowledge  of  his  coachman,  and  gave  him 
credit  for  his  driving,  which  he  richly  deserved.  It  was  evident  the 
old  horse  had  been  iu  his  hands  before  that  night.  On  they  went 
through  Boy  ton,  Butley,  the  borders  of  Eyke,  to  the  lane  leading 
down  to  Orford.  Here  at  a  certain  gate  they  stopped,  and  on  the 
other  side  of  the  hedge  were  the  five  men  with  the  net.  The  old 
horse  was  tied  to  th')  gate,  the  net  unrolled,  spread  out,  and,  with- 
out a  single  word  being  spoken,  each  man  took  his  station. 

It  was  just  the  dawning  of  the  morn,  when  they  could  hear  the 
old  cock  pheasants  crowing  to  their  mates,  to  come  down  from  their 
perches  to  feed.  A  rustling  wind  favoured  the  work  ;  a  large 
barley  stubble  was  before  them,  lying  with  a  slope  up  to  the  famous 
preserve  of  Iken  Wood. 

As  they  proceeded  onward,  sundry  kicks  in  the  net  told  of  the 
captured  game,  which  was  regularly  and  dexterously  bagged,  by  the 
leading  man  passing  on  to  the  net  to  the  place  of  fluttering,  and 
wringing  the  necks  of  the  said  partridges,  pheasants,  hares,  rab- 
bits, or  whatever  they  were  ;  then  passing  them  along  the  meshes 
to  the  head  of  the  net,  whence  they  were  safely  deposited  in 
the  different  game-bags  of  the  foremen. 

That  this  sport  was  as  much  enjoyed  by  these  men  as  that 
enjoyed  by  the  best  shot  in  the  land  ;   that  these  fellows  were  as 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  6$ 

expert  in  their  movements  aai  as  experienced  as  Colonel  Hawker 
himself,  and  as  bold  as  any  foxhunter  in  the  country,  is  quite  true. 

There  was  one  in  that  party  whose  courage  was  soon  put  to  the 
test,  after  a  fashion  which  he  little  calculated  upon,  and  never 
forgot. 

After  having  bagged  a  considerable  quantity  of  game,  and  swept 
several  acres  of  stubble,  they  were  ascending  the  middle  of  the  field, 
toward  the  covert,  when  a  sudden  violent  check  of  the  alarm-string, 
whbh  ran  from  one  to  the  other,  told  that  they  must  drop  the  net, 
and  b3  off.  Off  they  ran,  holier,  skelter,  as  fast  a3  they  could,  to 
the  nearest  fence. 

The  Squire's  heart  was  in  his  throat,  and  his  courage  in  his  heels, 
as,  with  unwonted  speed,  he  ran  for  his  life  to  the  fence.  Into 
b:*ake  an  I  briar,  amidst  nettles  and  thistles,  brambles  and  thorns, 
dashed  the  hero  of  the  night,  with  his  top-boots  sticking  ploance 
into  the  mud,  and,  for  the  life  of  him,  not  diring  to  extricate 
them,  for  fear  of  his  being  heard  and  taken  by  the  gamekeepers. 
The  water  oozed  coolly  over  the  tops,  conveying  a  gentle  moisture 
to  his  feverish  skin,  and  proving  no  small  consolation  for  his 
exertions. 

There  he  lay  in  a  dreadful  fright,  expecting  every  instant  some 
stout  keeper's  hand  to  seize  him  by  the  shoulders,  and  lug  him  out 
of  his  hiding-place.  Then  it  was  for  the  first  moment  that  he  felt 
the  awkwardness  of  his  situation.  Reflection  told  him  his  danger. 
Though  he  durst  scarcely  breathe,  he  felt  his  heart  beat  tuniul- 
tuously  against  his  chest,  at  the  thought  of  his  folly  and  the 
possibility  of  detection. 

"  Oh,  what  a  fool  I  am,"  thought  he,  "  to  run  the  risk  of  trans- 
portation for  such  a  freak  !  My  name  is  on  my  cart  ;  it  is  my 
horse,  and  the  fellows  will  swear  they  were  in  my  employ.  On 
me  will  be  visited  the  vengeance  of  the  law.  Lord  Hertford  will 
never  forgive  me.  I  shall  have  all  the  magistrates,  squires,  noble- 
men, gentlemen,  gamekeepers,  and  watchers  up  in  arms  against  me  ; 
and  all  for  what  ? — for  a  foolish  curiosity,  which  I  have  thus 
gratified  at  the  expense  of  my  character.  Oh  !  if  I  get  out  of 
this  scrape,  never,  never  will  I  get  into  such  a  one  again  !  " 

In  the  midst  of  these  painful  impressions,  the  Squire's  heart  was 
gladdened  by  the  cheerful  sound  of  "  bright  chanticleer."  Never 
did  cock  crow  with  a  pleasanter  sound  than  that  good  imitation, 
which  told  that  the  coast  was  clear. 


64  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

Some  time  did  the  Squire  hesitate  whether  he  should  joiu  the 
sport  again,  aud  a  still  longer  time  did  it  take  him  to  extricate 
his  boots  from  the  mud,  for  he  came  out  of  the  ditch  minus  the 
right  leg  covering,  and,  after  sundry  tugs,  and,  when  out,  sundry 
shakings,  etc.,  to  turn  out  the  water,  and  then,  as  may  be  supposed, 
no  small  difficulty  in  getting  it  on  again,  he  managed  to  join  hi? 
companions,  who  had  almost  felt  persuaded  that  he  had  totally 
decamped.  The  cause  of  this  alarm  was  a  poor  unfortunate 
jackass,  which  had  strayed  from  the  lane  into  the  stubble,  anc 
which,  standing  with  his  head  and  ears  erect,  had  presented  to  the 
foreman  the  appearance  of  a  determined  gamekeeper. 

A  few  more  acres  were  dragged,  more  game  secured,  and  the 
party  once  more  safely  seated  in  the  cart.  Two  sacks  of  game  lay 
in  the  bottom  of  the  vehicle,  which  were  both  deposited  (saving 
one  bagful  for  the  host)  at  the  Green  Cottage  at  Butley  Moor. 
What  a  happy  man  was  that  host,  when,  after  all  his  dangers,  he 
found  himself  again  within  his  own  doors  !  happier  still,  when, 
after  entertaining  his  free  companions,  whose  jokes  upon  his  ex- 
pressions of  joy  at  escape  were  amusing  enough  to  them,  though 
painfully  interesting  to  himself  ;  happier  still  was  he,  when,  at  four 
o'clock  in  the  morn,  he  let  them  out  of  his  house,  and  bade  poachers 
and  poaching  good-bye  for  ever  ! 

Nineteen  beautiful  cock  pheasants  were  hung  up  in  his  larder  ; 
but  so  ashamed  was  the  Squire  of  their  being  seen  there,  that, 
before  he  retired  to  his  own  bed,  he  put  them  all  into  a  box,  with 
hay,  etc.,  and  directed  them  to  Mr.  Thomas  Page,  his  wine- 
merchant,  in  London.  His  spolia  opima  were  not  mentioned  till 
years  had  in  some  msa3ure  worn  off  the  rust  of  danger,  and  then 
he  gave  his  friends  and  neighbours  reason  to  rejoice  in  his  adven- 
ture, and  that  he  had  escaped  transportation. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

HARVEST -HOME. 


It  was  the  evening  before  Haiwest-Home,  September  29th,  1793, 
that  a  sailor  called  at  the  back-door  of  the  Priory  Farm,  Downham 
Reach,  to  ask  for  a  draught  of  fresh  water.  It  was  no  uncommon 
thing  for  sailors  to  call  for  such  a  purpose.     Downham  Peach  wag 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  65 

the  nearest  point  at  which  ship3  of  large  tonnage  would  usually 
anchor,  and  shift  their  cargoes  in  lighters  for  the  town  of  Ipswich, 
whence  it  wa3  distant  about  four  miles.  The  crews  of  vessels  fre- 
quently had  to  walk  up  to  the  town  from  this  spot  ;  so  that  it  wa3 
no  uncommon  thing  for  them,  upon  landing  near  the  Priory  Farm 
after  a  voyage,  to  be  glad  of  a  sparkling  draught  of  clear  water. 

The  desired  draught  wa3  handed  to  the  sailor  by  the  ever-ready 
hand  of  Margaret  Catchpole,  who  always  took  an  interest  in  men 
belonging  to  the  sea. 

"  Is  dis  de  Priry  Barm  1  "  asked  the  man,  in  broken  English. 

"This  i3  the  Priory  Farm,"  wa3  the  quick  and  ea0'er  reply  of 
Margaret. 

"  How  bar  to  Gipswitch  I '' 

"  Four  miles  to  Ipswich.     What  country  are  you  from  ?  " 

"  Mynheer  be  brom  Hamsterdam.  I  lept  m.3  bessel  in  de  harber. 
Mynheer  de  Captan  did  'mand  me  up  to  Gipswitch.  'E  'mand  me 
'top  at  Priry  Barm  to  tale  von  Margaret  Catchpole  dad  'e  vou'd 
come  up  'ere  to-morrow,  at  nine  o'clock  in  de  eve." 

"  What  is  your  captain's  name  ?  *' 

"  Von  Villiam  Laud.1' 

The  reader  need  not  be  told  the  rest  of  the  conversation,  which 
of  course  related  to  the  captain.  How  he  was  I  How  lie  got  on  I 
Whose  service  he  was  in  ?  How  he  would  come  up  ]  And  where 
Margaret  wa3  to  meet  him  ?  It  was  all  arranged  that  she  should 
be  upon  the  shore  at  nine  o'clock,  and  look  out  for  a  small  sail- 
boat, which  should  come  up  the  river  and  run  ashore  against  the 
creek:  that  the  watchword  should  be  "  Margaret,"  and  that  punc- 
tuality should  be  observed. 

Margaret's  quick  understanding  soon  construed  all  the  sailor  said 
into  proper  English,  though  she  could  not  perceive  that  the  man 
only  feigned  a  foreign  accent  and  manner.  He  was  indeed  one  of 
Laud's  crew,  an  emissary  sent  on  purpose  to  decoy  the  poor  girl 
on  to  the  strand,  that  he  might  carry  her  off  to  a  foreign  shore, 
against  her  own  determined  purpose. 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  she  should  be  a  little  agitated. 
Whose  heart  would  not  have  been  so  under  similar  circumstances  ? 
The  expected  arrival  of  some  fashionable  and  insinuating  man  of 
fortune  into  the  saloon  of  fashion  has  not  agitated  the  heart  of  an 
amiable  and  interesting  young  lady  more  sensibly  than  poor  Margaret 
felt  herself  fluttering  within  at  this  peculiar  time.     It  i3  a  great 


66  THE    HISTORY    UF    MARGARET    CAl'CHPOLE. 

question,  however,  whether  any  high-spirited  damsel  could  prevent 
the  exposure  of  her  high  feelings  with  more  effect  than  this  poor 
girl  did  hers,  who  not  only  had  her  own  interest  to  induce  her  so  to 
do,  but  her  lover's  also. 

The  last  day  of  September  came,  and  with  it  all  the  bustle  and 
pleasure  of  Harvest-Home.  No  small  share  of  work  fell  to  Mar- 
garet's hands,  who  had  to  prepare  the  harvest  supper  for  fourteen 
men,  besides  women  and  children. 

At  that  time  of  day,  all  the  single  men  lodged  in  the  master's 
house,  and  were  expected  to  conform  to  all  the  rules,  regulations, 
hours,  and  work,  of  a  well-regulated  family. 

Once  in  a  year,  the  good  farmer  invited  the  married  men,  with 
their  wives  and  families,  to  supper  ;  and  this  supper  was  always 
the  Harvest-Home.  This  was  the  day  on  which  the  last  load  of 
corn  was  conveyed  into  the  barn  or  stack-yard,  covered  with  green 
boughs,  with  shouting,  and  blowing  of  the  merry  harvest  horn. 

All  the  labourers  upon  the  Priory  Farm  were  assembled  at  six 
o'clock  in  the  evening  :  nine  married  men,  and  five  single  ones  ; 
the  wives,  and  those  children  who  were  old  enough  to  come  to  the 
feast,  together  with  the  boys,  four  in  number,  who  had  to  work 
upon  the  land. 

A  picture  fit  for  the  hand  of  Wilkie  was  exhibited  in  that  ancient 
farm-house.  It  is  surprising  that  no  good  artist  should  have  painted 
the  Harvest  Supper.  The  Rent-day,  Blindman's-buff,  The  Fair, 
The  Blind  Fiddler,  or  any  of  his  celebrated  works,  could  scarcely 
afford  a  more  striking  subject  for  the  canvas,  or  the  printseller, 
than  the  Harvest-Home.  Such  a  scene  may  have  been  painted, 
but  the  writer  of  these  pages  has  never  seen  it  described,  though 
he  has  often  witnessed  it  in  real  life,  and  has  share  1  with  innocent 
pleasure  in  its  rustic  joy. 

Margaret  received  great  assistance  from  some  of  the  married 
women.  One  pair  of  hands  could  not,  indeed,  have  prepared  suffi- 
cient eatables  for  such  a  party  : — smoking  puddings,  plain  and 
plum  ;  piles  of  hot  potatoes,  cabbages,  turnips,  carrots,  and  every 
species  of  vegetable  which  the  farmer's  lands  could  produce — beef, 
roast  and  boiled,  mutton,  veal,  and  pork,  everything  good  and 
substantial ;  a  rich  custard,  and  apple-pie,  to  which  the  children 
did  ample  justice,  for  all  were  seated  round  this  well-furnished 
table  in  the  old  kitchen,  celebrated  for  its  curious  roof  and  antique 
chimney-piece. 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  67 

The  lord  of  the  feast,  or  head  man  in  the  harvest-field,  took  his 
station  at  the  head  of  the  table,  whilst  the  master  of  the  house,  and 
his  wife,  his  sister,  and  even  his  daughter,  were  the  servants  of  the 
feast,  and  took  every  pains  to  gratify  and  satisfy  the  party. 

Poor  labourers  are  not  the  only  class  in  England  fond  of  a  good 
dinner.  There  are  hundreds  and  thousands,  with  half  the  appetites 
of  these  joyful  sons  and  daughters  of  the  sickle,  who  glory  in  a 
feast.  How  often  is  the  rich  table  spread  with  every  delicacy,  and 
at  an  enormous  cost  the  greatest  rarities  provided,  and  a  group  of 
lords  and  ladies  seated  thereat  !  Things  just  tasted  and  dis- 
missed, and  all  due  ceremonies  performed,  the  company  rise  with- 
out any  satisfaction,  and  return  to  their  homes  grateful  to  nobody ; 
sometimes  hungry  and  dissatisfied,  moody  and  contentious  ;  dis- 
appointed, disaffected,  tired,  and  palled  by  the  very  fashion  of  the 
thing,  in  which  there  has  been  no  enjoyment  and  no  thankfulness. 

It  was  not  so  at  this  rustic  feast.  Simplicity  and  pleasure  sat 
upon  each  face.  Fathers  and  mothers,  sons  and  daughters,  felt 
thankful  to  God  for  their  master's  prosperity,  and  received  his 
attentions  with  unaffected  gratitude. 

After  the  feast,  and  a  flowing  jug  or  two  of  brown  ale  had 
been  emptied,  the  wives  and  children  were  invited  into  t7ie  best 
parlour  to  tea  and  cakes,  whilst  the  merry  reapers  were  left  to 
themselves,  to  enjoy  in  their  own  way  the  stronger  harvest  ale, 
which  was  just  broached  by  the  hand  of  their  master. 

Margaret  had  done  her  duty  well,  and  was  busily  engaged 
washing  up  the  dishes  as  fast  as  she  could,  that  she  might,  in  the 
midst  of  this  bustling  evening,  get  her  work  sufficiently  forward  not 
to  be  missed,  should  she  run  down  to  the  shore. 

"  Boy,  take  the  can  to  the  girl  and  have  it  filled;"  for  the 
master  had  deputed  Margaret  to  draw  whatever  ale  was  called  for. 

This  was  soon  done,  and  the  boy  returned  just  as  the  old  clock 
struck  eight. 

Margaret  heard  with  a  fluttering  heart  the  songs,  according  to 
custom,  commencing;  and  getting  her  work  well  forward,  she 
resolved,  after  the  next  can  of  ale  was  replenished,  to  be  off. 

Accordingly,  she  ran  up  the  back  stairs,  and  brought  down  her 
bonnet  and  shawl,  which  she  left  behind  the  staircase-dour,  and 
anxiously  awaited  the  moment  to  be  off  duty.  She  had  put  every 
plate  in  the  rack,  laid  all  the  iron  spoons  in  the  drawer,  cleaned 
the  spit,  and  placed  it,  bright  and  sinning,  over  the  chimney-piece. 

5 


68  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

All  the  skewers  had  been  strung,  all  the  knives  and  forks  washed 
and  wiped,  boilers,  saucepans,  gridirons,  and  the  rest  of  the  culi- 
nary utensils  cleaned,  and  placed  in  their  proper  places  ;  in  short, 
scarcely  any  one  would  have  believed  that  they  had  that  day  been 
used.  Clean  they  were,  and  cleaner  the  well-washed  face  and 
hands  of  the  active  girl,  who  had  finished  her  work,  and  prepared 
herself  for  an  interview  with  one  whose  image  had  been  graven 
on  her  mind  through  every  period  of  her  short  service. 

At  last  she  heard  that  welcome  sound,  more  enchanting  to  her 
ear  than  any  song  which  the  young  men  had  sung  :  "Boy,  take 
the  can  to  Margaret !  " 

It  was  soon  replenished  ;  and  scarcely  was  the  kitchen-door 
closed,  ere  the  bonnet  and  shawl  were  put  on,  the  latch  of  the 
door  lifted  up,  and  the  bright  rising  moon  shining  gloriously  in 
at  the  door.  Happy  moment  !  what  pencil  could  portray  the 
features  of  that  face  upon  which  the  moon  so  clearly  shone  on 
that  September  night? 

Poor  girl !  'twas  a  breathless  moment  of  long  anticipated  plea- 
sure to  thy  good  and  honest  heart,  such  as  many  a  one,  like  thee, 
may  have  experienced  ;  but  such  as  none,  be  she  who  she  may, 
could  have  more  anxiously  endured. 

At  last,  Margaret  is  off. 

The  pleasure  of  the  feast  continued  ;  and  as  the  foaming  ale  went 
round,  the  spirits  of  the  youths  arose,  and  each  bachelor  who  could 
not  sing  had  to  toast  his  favourite  lass. 

There  were  singular  disclosures  made  at  this  season,  which  gene- 
rally indicated  the  future  destiny  of  the  bachelor.  It  was  amusing 
enough  to  hear  those  who  did  not  choose  to  tell  their  lover's  name 
attempt  to  sing,  as  "  the  lord  "  called  upon  him  for  a  toast  or  a  song. 

"  We  haven't  had  Jack  Barry's  song,"  said  a  sly  fellow  of  the 
name  of  Biches,  who  himself  was  one  of  the  best  singers  in  the 
party.  "  Please,  sir"  (for  such  the  lord  of  the  feast  was  styled 
that  night),  "  call  upon  Jack  for  his  song." 

Now,  the  labourer  at  the  head  of  the  table  knew  that  Jack  could 
not  sing.  He  did  not  suppose,  either,  that  he  had  any  favourite 
lass  ;  for  no  one  had  seen  Jack  flirting,  or  directing  his  attentions 
towards  any  favoured  individual.  The  lord,  however,  was  bound 
to  do  his  duty,  when  so  urged  ;  he  therefore  said,  "  John  Barry,  we 
call  upon  you  for  a  song." 

"  I  cannot  sing,  master  :  I  wish  I  could,"  was  the  reply. 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  69 

"  Then  you  must  give  us  a  toast ;  and  you  know  what  it  must  be 
— '  Your  favourite  lass. '  '' 

Jack  hung  down  his  head  in  solemn  silence,  for  he  felt  extremely 
awkward.  He  had  a  favourite  lass  ;  he  felt  he  had  ;  and  no  one 
knew  it  but  himself ;  and  if  he  should  toast  her,  he  felt  that  he 
Ehould  be  laughed  at.  He  remained  in  a  state  of  painful  suspense, 
between  doubt  and  fear.  A  thousand  thoughts  revolved  in  his 
mind,  whether  he  should  not  give  a  fictitious  name,  or  some  one 
whom  he  had  heard  of,  or  only  knew  by  sight ;  but  then  appeared 
the  certainty  of  some  of  them  congratulating  the  person  he  might 
happen  to  mention,  and  so  bringing  him  into  a  scrape.  He  thought 
also  of  dissimulation,  and  a  lie,  at  which  Jack's  honest  nature 
revolted.  But  if  he  should  really  tell  his  sweetheart's  name  !  He 
felt  for  her,  he  felt  for  himself,  and  he  remained  a  longtime  without 
uttering  a  word. 

"  Come,  Jack,  my  boy,  what's  the  matter  ?  Give  us  your  favourite 
lass  !     What  makes  you  flinch,  my  lad  1  " 

Jack  remained  silent,  until  some  began  to  think  he  meant  to 
shirk  the  subject.  The  fact  is,  that  Jack  had  really  some  notion  of 
bolting,  and  once  or  twice  he  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at  the  door, 
with  the  full  intention  of  an  escape ;  but  Will  Riches,  perceiving 
this,  most  unceremoniously  bolted  the  door  ;  and,  as  the  jug  stood 
close  by  him,  he  declared  he  would  know  Jack's  sweetheart  before 
another  drop  should  be  drunk. 

"  Come,  Jack,"  says  he,  "  why  not  give  us  at  once  the  girl  you 
love  best  ? ' ' 

"Because  she  does  not  love  me,"  was  Jack's  quick  reply. 

Here  was  a  most  significant  glance  from  one  to  another  round 
about  the  room  ;  and  more  than  one  whispered  to  his  neighbour, 
"  Who  is  it  1 "  ISTot  a  soul  could  tell,  for  no  one  had  the  slightest 
idea  who  the  girl  could  be  who  would  refuse  so  honest  a  fellow  as 
Jack  Barry.  Some  began  to  think  that  Jack  had  stepped  out  of 
his  latitude,  that  he  had  dared  to  aspire  to  the  master's  daughter  ; 
some,  that  it  was  Matilda  Baker,  the  grocer's  girl ;  others  set  it 
down  as  Lucy  Harper,  of  Stratton.  But,  be  the  damsel  whom  she 
might,  Jack's  speech  had  set  such  a  spirit  of  curiosity  a-working, 
that  the  married  men  hoped  to  know  for  their  wives'  sake,  and  the 
single  ones  for  their  mistresses'  amusement.  Jack  had  got  further 
into  the  mire  by  his  floundering,  and  every  one  saw  that  he  was 
struggling  all  he  could  to  escape. 


7<3  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

"Well,  Jack,  who  is  she?  Who  is  she?  Do  we  any  of  us 
know  her? " 

"  Yes,  all  of  you." 

Here  they  were  all  out  at  sea  again. 

"It  must  be  the  master's  fair  daughter,"  said  Ned  Palmer  to 
his  neighbour. 

"I  don't  think  it,"  was  the  reply;  "  but  he  is  not  willing  to 
tell  us,  and  it's  hardly  fair  to  press  him." 

"  It's  a  law,  a  positive  law — I've  told  mine,"  says  John  Ruddock, 
"and  I  don't  see  why  he  should  flinch  from  the  name.  I  must 
have  it." 

"The  name  !  the  name  !  ''  exclaimed  one  or  two  resolute  fellows. 

A  tear  stood  in  Jack's  eye.  This  might  be  a  good  joke  to  some  ; 
but  the  elders  of  the  party,  who  saw  it,  especially  honest  Tom 
Keeble,  the  lord  of  the  evening,  felt  for  the  young  man  that 
respect  which  induced  him  to  make  a  sortie  or  parley,  in  the 
hope  of  giving  him  relief. 

"  Hiches,"  said  he,  "  as  the  jug  stands  by  you,  I  shall  call  upon 
you  for  a  song.  Our  young  friend  may,  by  the  time  you  have 
entertained  us,  have  recovered  himself  ;  and,  after  your  song,  I 
shall  order  the  jug  round  to  drink  your  health,  if  we  do  not  get 
the  lass." 

Now,  Will  prided  himself  upon  his  vocal  powers,  and  was  a 
bold,  forward  fellow.  He  had  no  objection  to  sing,  nor  had  any 
of  the  company  any  objection  to  his  song  ;  and,  truth  to  tell, 
all  hoped  the  jug  of  brown  ale  would  not  be  stopped  long,  either 
for  the  song  or  for  "the  favourite  lass."     So  Will  sang  his  song. 

"I'll  sing  you  a  new  song,"  says  he.  "I'll  sing  you  one  in  which 
you  can  all  join  in  chorus  in  the  house,  as  you  have  often  done 
in  the  field.     I'll  sing  you — 

"HALLO    LARGESS." 

Accordingly,  he  lifted  up  his  voice,  and  sang  this  truly  happy  and 
appropriate  harvest  song  :  — 

Now  the  ripened  corn 

In  sheaves  is  borne, 

And  the  loaded  wain 

Brings  home  the  grain, 
The  merry,  merry  reapers  sing  a  bind, 
And  jocund  shouts  the  happy  harvest  hind, 

Hallo  Large  !  Hallo  Large !  Hallo  Largess ! 


THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE,  7 1 

Now  the  harvest's  o'er, 

And  the  grain  we  store, 

And  the  stacks  we  pull, 

And  the  barn  is  full, 
The  merry,  merry  reapers  sing  again, 
And  jocund  shouts  the  happy  harvest  swain, 

Hallo  Large  !  Hallo  Large  !  Hallo  Largess  ! 

Now  our  toil  is  done, 

And  tLe  feast  is  won, 

And  we  meet  once  more 

As  we  did  of  yore, 
The  merry,  merry  reapers  sing  with  glee, 
And  jocund  shout  their  happy  harvest  spree, 

Hallo  Large  !  Hallo  Large  !  Hallo  Largess  ! 

Now  the  feast  we  share — 

'Tis  our  master's  fare, 

May  he  long,  long  live 

Such  a  treat  to  give, 
And  mern',  merry  reapers  sing  with  joy, 
And  jocund  shouts  the  happy  harvest  boy, 

Hallo  Large  !  Hallo  Large  !  Hallo  Largess  ! 

Now  we  join  in  song 

"With  our  voices  strong, 

And  our  hearts  are  high 

AVith  our  good  supply, 
"We  merry,  merry  reapers  joyful  come 
To  shout  and  sing  our  happy  Harvest-Home, 

Hallo  Large  !  Hallo  Large  !  Hallo  Largess  ! 

The  spirit  of  this  song  is  in  the  chorus,  which  is  peculiar  to  the 
eastern  counties  of  this  kingdom.  So  "  Hallo  Largess  !  "  may  be 
well  understood  here,  but  in  many  parts  of  the  country  is  quite 
unknown.  At  the  time  of  harvest,  when  the  men  are  reaping  down 
the  fields,  should  their  master  have  any  friends  visiting  his  fields, 
the  head  man  among  the  labourers  usually  asks  a  largess,  which  is 
generally  a  shilling.  This  is  asked  not  only  of  friends  and  visitors, 
but  of  strangers  likewise,  should  they  pause  to  look  at  the  reapers 
as  they  bind  up  the  sheaves. 

At  evening,  when  the  work  of  the  day  is  over,  all  the  men  collect 
in  a  circle,  and  Hallo,  that  is,  cry,  Largess.  Three  times  they  say, 
in  a  low  tone,  "  Hallo  Large  !  Hallo  Large  !  Hallo  Large  !  "  and 
all,  hand  in  hand,  bow  their  heads  almost  to  the  ground  ;  but,  after 
the  third  monotonous  yet  sonorous  junction,  they  lift  up  their 
heads,  and,  with  one  burst  of  their  voices,  cry  out,  "  Gess  ! " 

Varieties  of  this  peculiar  custom  may  exist  in  some  districts. 


72  THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

Sumetimes  the  man  with  the  most  stentorian  lungs  will  mount  an 
eminence  and  lead  the  rest,  who  join  in  chorus.  They  generally 
conclude  the  ceremony  with  three  shouts,  and  then  "  Thank  Mr., 
Mrs.,  Miss,  or  Master  "  (as  the  case  of  the  donor  may  be)  '"for  his 
largess."  Whence  the  origin  of  this  practice,  is  not  now  easily  to 
be  ascertained.  It  was  much  more  common  than  it  is.  The  habit 
of  dividing  the  gains,  too,  at  the  harvest  frolic,  is  going  fast  out  of 
fashion  ;  nor  is  its  substitute  an  amendment.  I 

At  the  period  here  mentioned,  and  in  the  Priory  Farm,  it  was 
customary  for  the  lord  to  divide  the  largess  among  the  men. 
women,  and  children  ;  which  formed  a  species  of  family  nest-egg, 
to  provide  against  some  urgent  necessity.  The  custom  has  now 
degenerated  into  an  ale-house  revel,  and  the  money  is  all  drunk 
out  for  the  benefit  of  no  one  but  the  publican. 

"Will  Riches,  your  health!"  said  the  lord,  as,  at  the  same 
moment,  he  turned  the  contents  of  a  canvas-bag  upon  the  table, 
which  exhibited  a  very  good  aspect  of  liberal  contributions.  The 
reader  may  suppose  that  every  master-tradesman  who  visited  the 
farm  had  to  give  his  share,  and  that  the  lord  had  not  been  unmind- 
ful of  his  solicitations,  when,  upon  counting  the  contents  of  the  bag, 
there  were  found  one  hundred  shillings  and  sixpence.  This  exactly 
gave  five  shillings  a-piece  to  the  fourteen  men,  half-a-crown  ditto 
to  the  nine  women,  and  two  shillings  each  to  the  four  boys. 

The  division  of  this  sum  gave  great  satisfaction  ;  and  our  perse- 
cuted friend,  Jack  Barry,  had  almost  unperceived  accomplished  a 
successful  retreat  in  the  interesting  moment  of  pocketing  the  cash. 
But  the  watchful  songster  had  him  in  his  eye  ;  and,  as  he  rose  to 
thank  the  company  for  the  honour  done  him  in  drinking  his  health, 
he  intercepted  Jack  in  the  act  of  drawing  back  the  bolt  of  the  door. 

"  I  think  this  is  the  best  place  I  can  speak  from  ;  and,  as  Jack  is 
so  anxious  to  be  off,  perhaps  to  see  his  sweetheart,  I  hope  he'll 
give  me  the  opportunity  of  proposing  her  health  in  his  absence,  for 
not  until  he  has  given  us  her  name  shall  the  bolt  be  drawn." 

The  poor  fellow  had  counted  on  his  escape,  but  little  thought  of 
the  extremity  of  ridicule  he  was  thus  bringing  upon  himself.  At 
length,  urged  on  all  sides,  he  could  resist  no  longer,  but,  in  a  kind 
of  ludicrous  despair,  he  exclaimed — ■ 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  toast  the  health  of  Margaret  Catchpole  !  " 

The  pencil  of  Wilkie  could  alone  describe  the  wild  burst  of 
unrestrained  glee  at  this  declaration. 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  73 

"Margaret  Catchpole  !"  was  as  suddenly  responded  in  surprise 
by  men,  women,  and  children  ;  and  such  grinning  countenances, 
and  coarse  laughter,  and  joking  congratulations,  were  beginning  to 
show  themselves,  that  Jack,  no  longer  able  to  endure  their  gibes, 
bolted  to  the  door,  and,  finding  no  resistance  to  his  will,  made  his 
exit,  amidst  the  roars  of  his  companions,  who  vociferated,  with  a 
cheer,  "  The  health  of  Margaret  Catchpole  !  " 

Jack  fled  precipitately  from  this  scene  of  tumult  and  confusion, 
and,  as  he  passed  the  little  foot-bridge  over  the  stream  from  the 
moat,  he  still  heard  the  rude  merriment  he  had  excited.  The  moon 
rose  brilliantly  over  the  little  chapel  in  the  dark  background,  and 
was  reflected  upon  the  water  in  a  line  with  the  bridge,  and  showed 
Jack's  figure  in  darkness  crossing  the  light  plank  ;  but  he  was  soon 
in  the  shadow  of  those  lofty  trees,  which  darkened  the  footpath 
towards  the  gamekeeper's  cottage.  He  had  instinctively  taken  this 
path  because  it  led  to  Levington,  his  father's  house  ;  and  he  then 
remembered  that  parent's  parting  words—"  If  ever  you  feel  yourself 
unhappy,  my  boy,  remember  you  have  a  home  here,  in  which,  as 
long  as  your  mother  and  I  live,  we  shall  be  happy  to  give  you  a 
welcome." 

Jack  was  really  unhappy,  and  he  had  some  cause  for  feeling  so^ 
though  he  felt  that  it  lay  not  with  himself.  He  knew  that  he  had 
spoken  the  truth,  though  it  had  cost  him  a  severe  pang  ;  and 
whilst  he  felt  much  grief  at  the  thought  of  the  jeers  and  quizzings 
he  should  meet  with,  and  the  annoyances  he  might  occasion  the 
poor  girl  whom  he  really  loved,  he  had  still  spoken  the  truth, 
which  he  was  not  ashamed  to  confess.  He  was  arrested  in  his 
progress  by  the  voice  of  John  Gooding,  the  old  gamekeeper  of  the 
great  Squire  of  Nacton — Philip  Broke. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?  "  was  his  question. 

"John  Barry,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Where  now,  Jack — where  now  1  " 

"  What,  Mr.  Gooding,  is  it  you  ?  Has  the  tide  turned  ?  Can  I 
walk  along  the  shore  to  Levington  ?  " 

"  The  tide  has  only  just  turned  ;  but,  if  you  take  the  wood-path 
for  a  while  to  Nacton,  you  may  then,  if  you  like  it,  keep  the  shore 
along  Orwell  Park,  and  pass  the  old  Hall  to  Levington.  But  what 
makes  you  leave  good  company  at  this  time  o'  night  ? " 

"  I  have  left  them  all  very  merry  at  the  harvest  supper,  but  I 
had  a  mind  to  see  my  friends." 


74  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

"Well,  Jack,  had  it  been  any  other  man  upon  the  farm,  I  should 
have  been  suspicious  of  you  as  a  poacher  ;  but  I  know  you  well, 
and  can  believe  you.  I  should  not  trust  some  that  you  have  left 
behind.  I  was  just  going  down  to  the  Priory,  to  see  how  you  lads 
fared  to-night." 

"Well,  Mr.  Gooding,  you  ivill  find  them  all  very  glad  to  see 
you,  and  no  doubt  they  will  make  you  welcome ;  but  will  you 
trouble  yourself  to  let  master  know  where  I  am  gone  to-night,  that 
he  may  close  his  doors  without  expecting  to  see  me  ?  " 

"That  I  will;  and,  when  I  get  there,  I  will  propose  your 
health,  Jack,  during  your  absence." 

"Do  so,  Mr.  Gooding;  and  tell  them  all,  they  have  my  hearty 
good  wishes  for  their  health  and  happiness." 

"Good-night." 

"Good-night.* 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   CONFLICT. 

But  where  is  Margaret  all  this  time  ?  She  is  on  the  shore,  casting 
an  anxious  eye  upon  the  waters.  The  moon  is  shining  with  such 
perfect  brightness,  that  she  can  see  across  the  river,  though  it  bo 
nearly  two  miles  from  the  strand  at  Downham  Peach  to  Freston 
Tower.  She  looks  toward  the  dark  shades  of  Woolverstone,  and 
with  a  lover's  anxious  eye,  fancies  she  can  descry  a  sail.  A  sail 
there  was  ;  but  it  came  very  slowly  on,  though  a  breeze  reached 
the  spot  where  poor  Margaret  was  standing. 

In  that  old  vessel,  seated  at  the  helm,  was  as  extraordinary  a 
character  as  ever  sailed  upon  the  waves  of  the  Orwell  ;  and  as  he 
will  be  no  insignificant  actor  in  some  succeeding  scenes  of  this 
work,  he  shall  be  here  introduced  to  the  notice  of  the  reader. 
He  is  thus  described  in  the  "  Suffolk  Garland." 

"The  ancient  fisherman  whose  character  is  here  portrayed  is 
not  a  mere  creature  of  the  imagination,  but  an  eccentric  being, 
once  resident  in  the  parish  of  St.  Clement,  Ipswich,  by  name 
Thomas  Colson,  but  better  known  by  the  appellation  of  Robinson 
Crusoe.  He  was  originally  a  woolcomber,  and  afterwards  a  weaver ; 
but  a  want  of  constant  employment  in  either  of  these  occupations 


THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  75 

induced   him   to    enter  into   the   East    Suffolk    Militia.      Whilst 
quartered  at  Leicester,  he  learned,  with  his  usual  ingenuity,  the 
art  of  stocking-weaving,  which  trade  he  afterwards  followed  in  this 
county.     But  this  employment,  in  its  turn,  he  soon  relinquished, 
and  became  a  fisherman  on  the  river  Orwell.     His  little  vessel  (if 
vessel  it  might  be  called,  for  every  part  of  it  was  his  own  handi- 
work) presented  a  curious  specimen  of  naval  patchwork,  for  his 
extreme  poverty  did  not  afford  him  the  means  of  procuring  proper 
materials.     In  this   leaky  and    crazy  vessel,  it   was   his    constant 
custom,  by  day  and  by  night,  in  calms  and  in  storms,  to  toil  on 
the  river  for  fish.     His  figure  was  tall  and  thin  ;  his  countenance 
meagre,   yet  striking  ;  and  his  eye   sharp  and  piercing.      Subject 
to  violent  chronic  complaints,  with  a  mind  somewhat  distempered, 
and  faculties  impaired,  he  was  a  firm  believer  in  the  evil  agency 
of  wizards  and  witchcraft.  .  .  .  His  mind   was   so   haunted   with 
the  dreams  of  charms  and  enchantments,  as  to  fancy  that  he  was 
continually  under  the  influence  of  these  mischievous  tormentors. 
His  arms  and  legs,  nay,  almost  his  whole  body,  was  encircled  with 
bones  of  horses,  rings,  amulets,  and  characters,  verges,  words,  etc., 
etc.,  as  spells  and  charms  to  protect  him  against  their  evil  machi- 
nations.    On  different  parts  of  his  boat  was  to  be  seen  '  the  horse- 
shoe  nailed,'    that  most  effective   antidote    against   the   power   of 
witches.     When  conversing  with  him,  he  would  describe   to  you 
that  lie  saw  them  hovering  about  his  person,  and  endeavouring 
by  all  their  arts  to  punish  and  torment  him.     Though  a  wretched 
martyr  to  the  fancies  of   a  disordered   imagination,  his  manners 
were  mild  and  harmless,  and  his  character  honest  and  irreproach- 
able.    But,  however  powerful  and  effective  his  charms  might  be 
to  protect  him  from  the  agency  of  evil  spirits,  they  did  not  prove 
sufficiently  operative  against  the  dangers  of   storm  and   tempest. 
For,  being  unfortunately  driven  on  the  ooze  by  a  violent  storm 
on  the  3rd  of  October  1811,  he  was  seen,  and  earnestly  importuned 
to  quit  his  crazy  vessel  ;  but  relying  on  the  efficacy  of  his  charms, 
he  obstinately  refused  ;  and  the  ebb  of  the  tide  drawing  his  bark 
off  into  deep  water,  his  charms  and  his  spells  failed  him,  and  poor 
Robinson  sank  to  rise  no  more." 

The  writer  of  these  pages  knew  Colson  well.  He  has  often, 
when  a  boy,  been  in  his  boat  with  him  ;  and  always  found  him 
kind  and  gentle. 

The  old  man  who  sat  at  the  helm  of  his  crazy  vessel,  now  toiling 


76  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

up  the  Orwell,  was  a  perfect  fisherman,  patient,  quiet,  steady, 
active,  and  thoughtful.  He  had  enough  to  employ  his  mind  as 
well  as  his  bod}'-,  and  too  deeply  was  that  mind  engaged.  The 
whole  legion  of  evil  spirits  seemed  to  be  his  familiar  companions, 
or  rather  his  incessant  enemies.  He  knew  all  their  names,  and 
their  propensities  ;  how  they  visited  and  afflicted  men  ;  and  his 
great  study  was,  how  to  prevent  their  malice  taking  effect  upon 
himself  or  any  one  else.  He  would  converse  with  them,  and  parley 
with  them  ;  he  would  seem  to  suffer  when  any  of  them  took  him 
by  surprise  and  found  him  off  his  guard.  The  loss  of  any  one  of 
his  numerous  charms  was  sure  to  occasion  the  visit  of  that  very 
demon  from  whose  attacks  it  was  supposed  to  defend  him.  He  has 
often  been  tried  by  intelligent  persons,  anxious  to  discover  if  he 
really  invented  a  new  tale  for  each  spirit ;  notes  were  kept  of 
the  name  and  the  peculiar  temper  he  attributed  to  each  ;  and, 
months  afterwards,  he  was  questioned  again  and  again  upon  the 
same  points,  but  he  never  faltered^never  attributed  a  wrong 
direction  to  any  one — but  was  as  accurate  and  certain  as  on  the 
first  day  he  spoke  of  them. 

The  whole  purport  of  these  attacks  was  to  persuade  Robin  to  do 
some  wicked  deed,  at  which  his  mind  revolted  ;  and  when  they 
could  not  prevail  against  him,  they  used  to  seem,  to  his  suffering 
mind,  to  torment  hiin,  sometimes  to  pinch  him,  sometimes  to  pelt 
him,  at  others,  to  burn  or  scald  him,  pull  his  hair  off  his  head, 
to  pull  his  ears,  his  nose,  or  his  arms  ;  and,  under  all  these 
seeming  attacks,  the  old  man's  countenance  would  exhibit  the 
species  of  suffering  resembling  the  agonies  of  one  really  under  such 
torture.  No  one  could  persuade  him  that  it  was  imaginative ;  he 
would  shake  his  head  and  say,  "I  see  them  plainly— take  care  they 
do  not  visit  you  !  " 

He  was  a  very  kind  friend  to  many  who  were  afllicted  ;  and 
never  saw  a  person  in  distressed  whilst  he  had  a  fish  in  his  boat, 
or  a  penny  in  his  pocket,  and  refused  to  help  him. 

From  the  great  encouragement  he  met  with,  and  the  friends  who 
were  always  kind  to  him,  it  is  supposed  that  he  might  have  laid  by 
a  sufficiency  for  his  latter  days,  for  at  one  time  he  had  amassed 
enough  to  have  purchased  a  new  vessel,  but  in  an  evil  hour  he  was 
induced  to  lend  it  to  an  artful  villain,  who  represented  himself  in 
great  distress,  but  who  ran  off  with  the  whole. 

It  was   curious  to   see  the  old   man  whilst  repairing  his  boat, 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCIIPOLE.  77 

■which  was,  when  given  to  him  by  Mr.  Seekamp,  but  a  wreck,  as 
it  lay  upon  the  mud  near  Hog  Island.  It  was  curious  to  see  him, 
whilst  plying  his  hatchet,  suddenly  stop,  seat  himself  on  a  piece  of 
timber,  and  hold  parley  with  one  of  the  demons,  who,  in  his 
frenzy,  he  fancied  attacked  him.  After  searching  about  his  person, 
he  would  suddenly  catch  up  the  talisman,  which  shown  to  the 
enraged  spirit  would  send  him  off,  and  leave  the  tormented  in 
peace.  His  delight  was  visible  in  the  chuckling  joy  of  his  speech, 
as  he  returned  triumphantly  and  speedily  to  his  accustomed  work. 

Colson,  who  sat  at  the  helm  of  his  vessel,  which  creaked  heavily 
under  the  breeze  as  it  sprang  up,  was  in  one  of  his  moods  of 
reverie,  when,  stooping  down  and  straining  his  eyes  to  windward, 
lie  saw  a  sail.  It  was  a  small  boat,  which  seemed  to  have  got 
more  wind  in  her  canvas  than  Robin  could  obtain. 

On  came  the  boat  ;  and  the  breeze  began  to  swell  the  many- 
coloured  sail  of  the  bewitched  barque  ;  but  Robin's  canvas  was 
heavy  compared  with  the  airy  trimming  of  the  feathers  of  the  little 
duck  that  followed  him.  Like  a  creature  of  life,  she  skipped  along, 
and  soon  overtook  the  old  fisherman  of  the  Orwell. 

"  What  ship  ahoy  !  What  ship  ahoy!  "  exclaimed  a  gruff  voice 
from  the  boat  below,  as  Robin,  leaning  over  the  stern  of  his  clumsy 
craft,  looked  closely  into  her  with  an  eager  eye. 

"It's  only  old  Robinson  Crusoe,"  replied  the  other.  "You 
may  speak  long  to  him  before  you  know  what  he  means,  even  if 
you  get  any  answer  at  all.'' 

"Ahoy  !  ahoy!"  was,  however,  the  old  man's  reply.  "You've 
got  the  foul  fiend  aboard.  What  are  you  up  to,  Will  ?  I  know 
that's  Will  Laud's  voice,  though  I  haven't  heard  it  lately.  Whither 
bound,  WiU  ?     Whither  bound  ? " 

"  Confound  the  fellow  !  "  muttered  Will.  "  I  never  heard  him 
say  so  much  before.  The  foul  fiend  always  sails  with  him.  But 
give  him  a  good  word,  John,  and  a  wide  berth." 

"Heavy  laden,  Robin?  heavy  laden?  You've  a  good  haul 
aboard.  Crabs,  or  lobsters,  or  era} fish — eh,  Robin?  turbot,  plaice, 
or  flounders?  soles,  brill,  or  whiting?  sand-dabs,  or  eels?  But 
you've  got  plenty,  Bob,  or  I  mistake,  if  not  a  choice.  The  tide  is 
falling  :  you'll  never  reach  the  Grove  to-night." 

"I  shall  get  up  in  time,  Will.  You've  lightened  my  cargo 
You've  got  a  pleasant  companion  abroad.  You've  got  my  black 
fiend  on  your  mainsail.     There  he  sits,  pointing  at  you  both,  as  if 


78  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

he  had  you  in  his  own  clutches.     Take  care  he  don't  drive  you 
aground.     He  sticks  close  to  the  sail,  Will." 

"  Heave  ahoy!  heave  ahoy!  Good-night;"  and  away  bounded 
the  boat,  which  was  then  passing  Pin  Mill,  in  the  widest  part  of  the 
river,  and  steering  towards  the  shades  of  Woolverstone.  The 
obelisk  rose  high  over  the  dark  trees,  pointing  to  the  clear,  moonlit 
sky,  its  pinnacle  still  tinged  with  the  last  red  light  of  that  autumnal 
evening. 

But  the  breeze  freshening,  the  little  skiff  darted  along  the  side  of 
the  greensward,  which  sloped  to  the  water's  edge;  and,  as  she 
passed,  the  startled  doe  leaped  up  from  her  repose,  and  stamped 
her  foot,  and  snorted  to  the  herd  reposing  or  browsing  on  the  side 
of  the  hill. 

Woolverstone  Park,  with  its  thick  copses  and  stately  trees,  whose 
roots  reached,  in  snaky  windings,  to  the  very  shore,  was  now  the 
range  along  which  the  barque  skirted  till  it  came  opposite  to  the 
white  cottage,  which  stands  on  a  small  green  opening,  or  lawn, 
slanting  down  to  the  river. 

The  park  boat  was  moored  against  the  stairs,  and  a  single  light 
burned  against  the  window,  at  which  a  white  cat  might  be  seen  to 
be  sitting.  It  was  a  favourite  cat  of  the  gamekeeper's,  which  had 
accidentally  been  killed  in  a  rabbit-trap,  and,  being  stuffed,  was 
placed  in  the  window  of  the  cottage.  Visible  as  it  always  was  in 
the  same  place,  in  the  broad  day  and  in  the  clear  moonlight,  the 
sailors  on  the  river  always  called  that  dwelling  by  the  name  of  the 
Cat  House  ;  by  which  it  is  known  at  the  present  day.  High  above 
it  might  be  seen  the  mansion,  shining  in  the  moonbeam,  and  many 
lights  burning  in  its  various  apartments— a  sign  of  the  hospitality 
of  W.  Berners,  Esquire,  the  lord  of  that  beautiful  domain. 

Bat  the  two  sailors  in  the  boat  were  little  occupied  with  thoughts 
about  the  beauty  of  this  scene,  or  the  interest  that  might  attach  to 
that  side  of  the  water.  Their  eyes  were  bent  upon  the  opposite 
shore  ;  and,  as  they  sailed  along,  with  a  favourable  wind,  they  soon 
passed  the  boat-house  and  the  mansion  of  Woolverstone.    ' 

"Luff,  do  you  think  we  shall  be  lucky?  I'd  venture  my  share 
of  the  next  run,  if  I  could  once  safely  harbour  the  prize  from 
yonder  shore." 

"Why,  Will,  you  speak  as  if  the  Philistines  were  to  meet  you. 
Who  can  prevent  your  cutting  out  such  a  prize  ? " 

"  I  know  not  ;  except  that  she  is  too  difficult  a  craft  to  manage. 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  79 

"  Pshaw,  Will !  her  cable  may  be  easily  cut  ;  and  once  we  have 
her  in  tow,  with  this  side-wind  upon  our  sail,  we  shall  be  back 
again  as  quickly  as  we  came." 

"Maybe,  maybe,  John;  but  I  do  not  like  being  too  desperate. 
I'll  fulfil  my  word,  and  give  you  more  than  half  my  share,  which  you 
know  is  a  pretty  good  one,  if  you  will  lend  me  an  honest  and  fair  play." 

"  I'll  do  nothing,  Bill,  but  what  you  tell  me.  I'll  lay  like  a  log 
in  the  boat,  and  stir  not  without  the  boatswain's  whistle  ;  and  as  to 
an  honest  hand,  I'll  tell  you  what,  Will,  'tis  something  as  good  as 
your  own — it  will  do  by  you  as  well  as  your  own  would  do  by  me." 

"  Say  no  more,  say  no  more  !  But  look,  John — I  do  believe  I 
see  her  by  the  shore." 

"  I  see  something  white,  but  that's  the  cottage  in  the  Reach." 

"No,  no,  John  ;  keep  her  head  well  up  ;  my  eyes  are  clearer 
than  yours — I  see  her  flag  waving  in  the  wind.  You  may  take 
your  tack  now,  John — we  shall  run  directly  across.  Ease  out  the 
mainsail  a  bit,  and  111  mind  the  foresail.  Bear  up,  my  hearty  ! 
bear  up,  my  hearty  !  " 

With  such  words  of  mutual  encouragement  did  these  men  of  the 
sea,  the  river,  and  the  land,  after  passing  Woolverstone  Park,  steer 
directly  across,  towards  JSacton  Creek,  that  they  might  hug  the 
wind  under  Downham  Pveach,  and  move  more  rapidly,  in  shallow 
water,  against  the  tide. 

Any  one  would  imagine,  from  their  conversation,  that  they  were 
intent  upon  cutting  out  some  vessel  from  her  moorings,  instead  of 
a  poor,  defenceless  girl,  who,  trusting  to  nothing  but  the  strength 
of  true  love,  stood  waiting  for  them  on  the  shore. 

There  stood  the  ever  faithful  Margaret,  with  palpitating  heart, 
watching  the  light  barque,  as  it  came  bounding  over  the  small 
curling  waves  of  the  Orwell.  In  her  breast  beat  feelings  such  as 
some  may  have  experienced  ;  but,  whoever  they  may  be,  they  must 
have  been  most  desperately  in  love.  Hope,  fear,  joy,  and  terror, 
anxiety,  and  affection — each,  in  turn,  sent  their  separate  sensa- 
tions, in  quick  succession,  into  her  soul.  Hope  predominated  over 
the  rest,  and  suggested  these  bright  thoughts — 

"He  is  coming  to  me,  no  more  to  be  tried,  no  more  to  be  dis- 
approved, but  to  tell  me  he  is  an  honest  man,  and  engaged  in 
honest  service." 

What  a  picture  would  she  have  presented  at  that  moment  to 
any  genuine   lover  of  nature  !      Who   could  describe  that  eye  of 


80  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

expectation,  swelled  as  it  was  with  the  animating  hope  of  happiness 
to  come  !  Who  could  describe  that  heaving  heart,  answering  as  it 
did  to  every  heave  of  the  little  boat  which  came  bounding  to  the 
shore  !  And  what  words  shall  speak  that  sudden  emotion,  as  the 
welcome  sound  of  the  grounding  keel,  and  the  rush  of  waters 
following  it,  told  that  the  boat  was  ashore,  which  conveyed  to  a 
woman's  heart  all  that  she  had  so  long  looked  for,  hoped,  and 
feared — her  lover's  return  ! 

The  watchword,  "  Margaret,"  was  spoken,  and  in  another 
moment  her  joy  and  grief,  and  love  and  hope,  were,  as  it  were, 
embodied  in  the  embrace  of  him  she  loved.  Moments  at  such  time 
fly  too  rapidly — an  hour  seems  but  an  instant.  There  is  so  much 
to  say,  to  express,  to  ponder  upon,  that  the  time  is  always  too  short. 
In  honest  love  there  seems  to  be  no  fear,  no  death,  no  time,  no 
change — a  sort  of  existence  indescribably  happy,  indefinitely  bliss- 
ful, hopeful,  and  enduring. 

In  the  heart  of  Margaret,  the  poor  Margaret  Catchpole,  love  was 
her  life  ;  and  as  she  stood  upon  that  strand,  and  first  welcomed  her 
William,  she  felt  the  purest,  happiest,  and  holiest  feelings  of  joy 
rectitude,  and  honesty — such  as  she  never  before  had  felt  to  such 
extent,  and  such  as  she  knew  but  for  a  few  short  moments,  and 
often  wished  for  again,  but  never,  never  afterwards  experienced. 

Since  his  absence  from  Margaret,  the  character  of  Laud  had 
become  more  and  more  desperate,  and  to  say  that  the  same  pure 
feeling  burned  in  his  breast  as  did  in  Margaret's  would  not  be 
true.  No  man  who  leads  a  guilty  life  can  entertain  that  purity 
of  love  in  his  heart  which  shall  stand  the  test  of  every  earthly 
trial  ;  but  Margaret,  like  many  real  lovers,  attributed  to  him  she 
loved  the  same  perfection  and  singleness  of  attachment  which  she 
felt  towards  him.  Had  she  known  that  this  pure  flame  was  only 
burning  as  pure  and  bright  in  the  honest  soul  of  Jack  Barry,  she 
would,  it  may  be,  have  rejected  Laud,  and  have  accepted  him  ; 
but  she  knew  not  this.  She  was  not  blind  to  the  faults  of  the 
sailor,  though  she  was  blinded  to  his  real  character.  She  expected 
to  find  a  love  like  her  own,  and  really  believed  his  affection  to  be 
the  same  to  the  last. 

"Now,  Margaret,"  he  at  length  exclaimed,  "now's  the  time: 
my  boat  is  ready,  my  ship  is  at  the  mouth  of  the  river.  A  snug 
little  cabin  is  at  your  service  ;  and  you  will  find  more  hearts  and 
hands  to  serve  you,  than  you  ever  had  in  your  life." 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  8 1 

"  But  where  am  I  to  go,  William  ?  What  business  have  I  on 
board  your  masters  vessel?  He  would  not  approve  of  your  sailin-' 
with  your  young  wife.  I  thought  you  came  to  tell  me  you  were 
prepared  to  many  me  from  my  own  dear  father's  house,  and  to  be 
a  comfort  and  a  blessing  to  my  aged  mother." 

"  Margaret,  you  say  you  love  me.  My  time  is  short,  I  am  come 
here  to  prove  the  sincerity  of  my  love,  and  to  take  you,  in  an 
honest  way,  to  a  country  where  we  may  be  married  ;  but  if  you 
send  me  away  now,  we  may  never  meet  again. '; 

"If  you  are  true,  William — if,  as  you  say,  your  prospects  are 
good,  and  you  have  spared  sufficient  from  your  lawful  gains  to 
hire  a  cottage  and  to  make  me  happy,  why  not  get  leave  of  absence, 
and  come  and  marry  me  in  dear  old  England  ?  " 

"  I  may  not  be  able  to  get  leave  for  a  long  time  ;  and  what  differ- 
ence does  it  make  whether  we  are  married  here,  or  in  my  employer's 
country  ?  Marriage  is  marriage,  Margaret,  in  every  place,  all  the 
world  over.'3 

"Yes,  Will  ;  but  I  have  heard  that  marriages  solemnized  in  some 
countries  do  not  hold  good  in  others  ;  and  whether  they  did  or 
not,  I  should  like  those  who  first  gave  me  birth  to  give  me  to  you, 
William.  My  consent,  they  know,  is  a  willing  one  ;  but  I  should 
not  be  happy  in  mind,  if  I  were  to  leave  my  parents  without  their 
knowing  where  I  was  gone." 

"  What  will  it  matter  if  they  do  not  know  it  till  we  return  ?  I 
almost  think  you  would  like  another  better  than  me,  Margaret." 

"If  you,  William,  were,  in  some  respects,  other  than  you  are,  I 
should  like  you  full  as  well ;  but,  as  you  are,  I  love  you,  and  you 
know  it.  Why  not  come  ashore,  and  marry  me  at  our  own  church, 
and  in  the  presence  of  my  own  parents  I  As  to  any  other,  William, 
though  another  may  like  me,  I  cannot  help  it,  but  I  can  help  his 
having  me." 

"Then  there  is  another  that  does  love  you! — is  there,  Mar- 
garet?" 

A  blush  passed  over  Margaret's  face  as  she  replied,  "Another 
has  told  me  so,  and  I  did  not  deceive  him.  He  thought  you  dead, 
or  he  would  never  have  ventured  upon  the  subject.  I  told  him  he 
was  mistaken,  that  you  were  not  dead,  and  that  I  still  loved  you, 
William." 

"  Then  he  knows  I  live,  does  he?  " 

«  Yes." 


82  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

"  And  you  have  betrayed  me  1  " 

"  No  :  I  have  not  told  any  one  but  him  ;  and  as  he  pressed 
his  suit,  thinking  that  you  were  no  more,  I  felt  it  to  be  only  due 
to  him  to  tell  him  you  were  alive." 

"  And  who  is  he,  Margaret  ?  You  would  not  have  been  so  plain 
with  him  if  he  had  not  had  somewhat  of  your  confidence." 

"  He  is  an  honest  young  man,  and  of  very  good  and  respectable 
parents— he  works  at  the  Priory  Farm  ;  and  seeing  him,  as  I  do, 
daily,  I  can  form  sufficient  judgment  of  his  character  to  believe 
he  would  never  betray  any  one." 

"  Upon  my  word,  Margaret,  he  must  be  a  prodigy  of  perfection  ! 
Perhaps  you  would  like  him  to  be  bridesman  upon  our  wedding- 
day  ?  " 

"  I  would  indeed  if  he  would  like  it,  and  you  had  no  objection." 

' '  What  is  his  name  ?  " 

"John  Barry." 

"  What !  of  Lcvington  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"His  brother  is  in  the  coast-guard.  It  was  he  who  gave  me 
this,  Margaret,  this  cut  upon  my  forehead— this,  that  you  took 
such  pains  to  heal." 

"And  it  is  healed,  William;  and  your  heart,  too,  I  hope." 

"  No,  no,  no  ! — I  owe  him  one  !  " 

"  Consider  me  his  creditor,  and  pay  it  me ;  for  I  healed  that 
wound,  and  it  brought  with  it  reformation." 

"  I  would  not  give  you  what  I  would  give  him." 

"  No,  William  ;  but  you  ought  not  to  bear  malice.  His  brother 
has  been  xery  kind  to  me.  I  may  say,  he  is  the  only  one  who 
never  reproached  me  with  having  been  the  mistress  of  a  smuggler." 
(There  was  a  fearful  frown  upon  the  smuggler's  brow  at  this 
moment,  and  a  convulsive  grasp  of  the  poor  girl's  hand,  that 
told  there  wTas  agony  and  anger  stirring  in  his  soul.)  "But  you 
are  not  a  smuggler  now,  William.  I  did  not  mean  to  hurt  your 
feelings.  All  reproach  of  that  name  has  long  passed  away  from 
my  mind." 

William  was  silent,  and  gazed  wildly  upon  the  waters.  One 
hand  was  in  his  bosom,  the  other  was  in  Margaret's  hand,  as  she 
leaned  upon  his  shoulder.  There  might  be  seen  a  strange  paleness 
passing  over  his  face,  and  a  painful  compression  of  his  lips.  A 
sudden  start,  as  if  involuntary,  and  it  was  most  truly  so.     It  told 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  83 

of  a  chilliness  on  the  heart,  that  seemed  to  freeze  the  blood  in  his 
veins.     He  actually  trembled. 

"  "William,  you  are  not  well." 

"  No,  I  am  not ;  but  a  little  grog,  which  is  in  the  boat,  will  soon 
set  me  right  again.'' 

"  Shall  I  run  and  fetch  it  ?  " 

1  No,  no. — wait  a  bit,  wait  a  bit.  Hold — I  was  a  smuggler  ! 
Yes,  you  said  I  was  a  smuggler  !  The  world  despised  me  !  You 
bore  the  reproach  of  my  name  !  Well,  Margaret,  the  smuggler 
comes  home — he  comes  to  marry  you.  Will  the  world  believe  him 
to  be  altered  ?    Will  they  not  call  you,  then,  the  smuggler's  bride?" 

"No,  William,  not  if  you  are  really  altered,  as  you  say  you  arc. 
I  wish  you  were  in  the  British  service  ;  seamen  are  wanted  now, 
and  the  smuggler  would  soon  be  forgiven,  when  he  once  sailed 
under  the  flag  of  Old  England/' 

"  'Tis  too  late,  'tis  too  late,  now,  Margaret !  I  will  not  say  I  may 
not  ever  sail  under  our  gallant  Nelson.  You  might  persuade  me 
to  it,  if  you  would  only  sail  with  me  to  Holland,  and  there  be 
married  to  me,   Margaret." 

"  You  have  heard  me  tipon  this  point :  do  not  urge  it  any  more. 
I  have  now  stolen  away  from  duty,  William,  to  meet  you  here, 
and  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  missed.  Let  me  only  hear  yon  say 
you  will  come  again  soon,  to  marry  me  at  home,  and  I  shall  return 
to  my  service  happy." 

"  I  would  if  I  could,  but  I  cannot." 

"  Why  not,  William  ?  why  not?  " 

"  Do  not  ask  me  why.  Come,  Margaret,  come  to  the  boat,  and 
share  my  fate.  I  will  be  constant  to  yon,  and  3*011  shall  be  my 
counsellor." 

"Nay,  William,  do  not  urge  me  to  forsake  all  my  friends,  aud 
put  all  this  country  in  terror  as  to  what  has  become  of  me.  I 
cannot  go  on  board  your  boat.  I  cannot  give  you  myself  until  God 
and  my  parents  have  given  me  to  you.  So  do  not  think  of  it ; 
but,  come  again,  come  again  ! — yes,  again  and  again  ! — but  come 
openly,  in  the  sight  of  all  men,  and  I  will  be  yours.  I  live  for 
you  only,  William,  and  will  never  be  another's  whilst  you  live." 

"  But  how  can  I  live  without  you,  Margaret  ?  I  cannot  come 
in  the  way  you  talk  of  ;  I  tell  you  I  cannot.     Do,  then,  do  be  mine." 

"I  am  yours,  William,  and  will  ever  be  so;  but  it  must  be 
openly,  before  all  men,  and  upon  no  other  terms." 

6 


84  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

"  Then  it  will  never  be  \ " 

"  Why  so  ?  " 

"Because  I  am  a  smuggler  !" 

"  You  have  been  such,  but  you  are  not  so  now.  You  have  long 
forsaken  the  gang  ;  you  are  forgotten,  and  supposed  to  be  dead. 
You  may  change  your  name  ;  but  being  changed  in  your  life,  it 
will  only  be  known  to  me." 

"  And  to  Barry,  too,  and  Margaret ;  then  to  his  brother,  and  to 
numbers  of  others,  who  will  know  me.  I  was  recognised  this  very 
night." 

"  What,  if  you  change  your  name?" 

"My  name  is  changed,  but  not  my  nature.  I  am  a  smuggler 
still  !  " 

"No,  William,  no — you  cannot  be!  You  are  in  the  service  of 
an  honest  man,  though  a  foreigner." 

"  No,  Margaret,  I  am  not.  You  see  before  you  the  notorious 
Hudson.     I  am  a  smuggler  still  !  " 

It  was  now  poor  Margaret's  turn  to  tremble,  and  she  felt  more 
than  language  can  speak.  She  had  heard  of  Hudson — Captain 
Hudson,  as  he  was  called — but  had  no  idea  that  her  lover  was 
that,  or  such  a  man.  She  felt  a  revulsion  amounting  to  sickness, 
a  giddiness  overcame  her,  and  she  felt  as  if  she  must  fall  to  the 
earth.  Half  carried,  half  urged,  half  pulled  along,  she  was  uncon- 
sciously moving,  with  her  eyes  fixed  fully  upon  the  boat,  and 
approaching  it,  and  she  had  no  power  to  resist — a  sort  of  trance- 
like senselessness  seemed  to  overpower  her ;  and  yet  she  felt  that 
hand,  knew  that  form,  and  saw  the  waters  and  the  boat,  and  had  no 
energy  or  impulse  to  resist.  Her  heart  was  so  struck  with  the 
deadliness  of  grief  and  despair,  that  the  nerves  had  no  power  to 
obey  the  will,  and  the  will  seemed  but  a  wish  to  die.  We  cannot 
die  when  we  wish  it,  and  it  is  well  for  us  we  cannot.  Happy  they 
who  do  not  shrink  when  the  time  comes  appointedly  ;  thrice  happy 
they  who  welcome  it  with  joy,  and  hope,  and  love  ! 

Margaret  revived  a  little  before  she  reached  the  boat,  and  resisted. 
The  firm  grasp  of  the  smuggler  was  not,  however,  to  be  loosed. 
"  You  do  not  mean  to  force  me  away,  William  1  " 
"  I  must,  if  you  will  not  go." 

"  I  will  not  go." 

"  You  shall — you  must — you  cannot  help  it.    Do  not  resist.** 

"  Shame,  William,  shame  !     Is  this  your  love  1 " 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  85 

"  It  is,  Margaret,  it  is.     I  mean  you  fair." 
"Your  means  are  foul.     Let  me  go,  William  !  let  me  go  !" 
"  Yes  :  you  shall  go  on  board  my  boat." 
"  Not  with  my  life,  William.     I  will  go  overboard  !" 
"Then  will  I  follow  you;  but   I  cannot  parley  longer.     Come 
on!" 

The  poor  girl's  struggles  now  became  so  violent,  and  her  efforts 
to  escape  so  powerful,  that  Will  Laud's  utmost  strength  could  not 
drag  her  along  the  sand.  Her  fears,  too,  were  increasing  with  his 
cruel  violence  ;  and  these  fears  were  greatly  increased  by  Laud 
giving  a  loud,  shrill  boatswain's  whistle.  This  awakened  her  to  the 
sight  of  the  trap  into  which  she  had  been  beguiled,  for,  in  another 
moment,  she  saw  a  man  spring  from  the  boat,  and  hasten  towards 
her.  He  came  along  with  rapid  strides  to  join  them,  and  soon, 
with  horrid  voice,  exclaimed,— 

"  Your  signal,  Laud,  is  late  indeed,  but  better  late  than  never." 
That  voice  was  too  well  known  by  Margaret ;  'twas  the  hated 
countryman's — 'twas  John  Luff's. 

This  fellow  seized  her  in  his  arms,  and,  as  a  tiger  would  swing  a 
fawn  over  his  back,  so  poor  Margaret  was  swung  over  his  shoulders 
in  an  instant.  The  last  effort  a  defenceless  female  can  make  is  the 
shriek  of  despair ;  and  such  a  one  was  heard,  as  not  only  sounded 
through  the  woods  of  Downham  Reach,  but  reached  the  opposite 
shores  of  Woolverstone  Park. 

That  shriek  was  heard  by  one  whose  heart  was  too  true  to  nature 
to  resist  the  good  motives  which  it  awakened.  Young  Barry,  as 
the  reader  knows,  was  journeying  toward  the  gamekeeper's  cottage 
on  the  cliff,  and  had  just  entered  the  wood  in  front  of  that  dwelling 
as  the  piercing  shriek  struck  upon  his  ear.  He  sprang  over  the 
paling  in  an  instant,  and  by  the  broad  moonlight  beheld  a  man 
carrying  a  female  towards  a  boat,  and  the  other  assisting  to  stop 
her  cries.  He  leaped  down  the  cliff,  and  seizing  a  strong  break- 
water stake,  which  he  tore  up  from  the  sand,  rushed  forward  to  the 
man  who  carried  the  female.  It  was  a  good,  trusty,  heart-of-oak 
stake  which  he  held,  and  which  in  one  moment  he  swung  round 
his  head,  and  sent  its  full  weight  upon  the  hamstrings  of  Luff. 
The  fellow  rolled  upon  the  sand,  and  over  and  over  rolled  the  poor 
girl  into  the  very  waves  of  the  Orwell. 

It  was  no  slight  work  which  Barry  had  now  in  hand.  It  was  a 
bold  deed  to  attack  two  such  daring  villains,  both  well  armed,  and 


86  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

he  with  nothing  but  a  stake.  But  the  consequences  he  neither 
foresaw  nor  dreaded ;  the  cause  was  a  good  one,  and  he  left  the 
issue  to  God.  As  quick  as  thought  he  had  already  dashed  one 
foeman  to  the  earth  ;  the  other  stood  aghast,  beholding  Margaret 
fallen  into  the  water,  and  his  comrade  rolling  on  the  shore.  He 
flew  to  help  Margaret,  and  raising  her  up,  determined  not  to 
relinquish  her,  but  stood  opposed  to  the  dauntless  Barry. 

"Villains,  release  the  girl !  "  was  his  exclamation. 

"  It  is  Barry's  voice  !  "  shrieked  Margaret.     "  Help,  John,  help  !  " 

There  was  a  strange  opposition  of  feeling  in  all  the  parties  at 
these  words.  The  blood  curdled  in  the  veins  of  the  smugglers, 
whilst  it  seemed  to  burst  with  overpowering  fulness  upon  the  fore- 
head of  the  young  man  who  now  attacked  them.  He  fought  for 
the  prize  of  true  love — they  for  revenge.  The  moment  they  heard 
the  name  uttered  by  the  girl  they  seemed  to  think  no  more  about 
her ;  but  the  fallen  man  sprang  up,  and  Laud  let  Margaret  go,  and 
both  rushed,  like  enraged  wild  beasts,  with  full  force  against  young 
Barry.  He,  with  true  heroic  daring,  committed  himself  at  once  to 
the  encounter.  He  was  a  fine  athletic  young  man,  a  head  taller 
than  either  of  the  sailors,  but  odds  were  fearfully  against  him. 
Luff  was  a  stout,  stiff,  sturdy  seaman;  and  Laud  young,  active, 
cool,  and  desperate. 

A  smuggler  is  seldom  without  a  weapon  of  offence  and  defence. 
Luff  seized  his  pistol  from  his  girdle,  and  fired  at  his  brave 
antagonist  ;  it  missed  its  mark,  and  the  stout  oak  arm  was  not  long 
in  thundering  a  blow  upon  his  head,  which  again  sent  him  sprawl- 
ing upon  the  ground.  It  was  Laud's  turn  now  to  take  his  aim, 
which  he  did  in  the  most  cool,  determined  manner,  with  as  much 
ease,  and  as  steady  a  hand,  as  if  he  were  firing  at  a  holiday  mark. 
It  was  a  cruel  aim,  and  rendered  the  contest  still  more  unequal. 
It  took  effect  in  the  young  man's  left  shoulder,  and  rendered  that 
arm  useless. 

None  but  such  a  frame  and  such  a  spirit  could  have  stood 
against  that  pistol-shot.  It  made  him  stagger  for  the  moment ; 
but  he  had  presence  of  mind  to  ward  off  the  next  blow  of  a 
cutlass  with  his  good  oaken  staff.  And  now  might  be  seen  the 
most  desperate  conflict  for  life  or  death  between  the  rivals.  Barry 
and  Laud  closed  and  parted,  and  struggled  fiercely  with  each  other, 
though  the  former  had  but  ©no  arm  to  act  upon  the  defensive 
with.    His  right  hand,  however,  was  powerful  enough  to  dash  the 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  87 

Bword  of  Laud  at  least  ten  yards  into  the  wave  ;  and  with  such 
dexterity  did  he  handle  his  weapon,  that  had  not  Luff  come  again 
unexpectedly  to  the  encounter,  the  contest  must  have  been  speedily 
terminated  in  favour  of  Barry  :  Luff  recovered  his  feet  again,  and 
rushed  at  Barry  with  such  rage,  that  again  his  other  pistol  missed 
its  aim. 

Barry  had  now  to  act  entirely  upon  his  own  defence,  with  only 
one  arm  against  four.  He  had  this  advantage,  however,  that  they 
had  no  time  to  load  their  pistols,  and  had  only  their  short  butt- 
ends  to  fight  with,  whilst  he  had  a  good  long  arm. 

But  assistance — unexpected  assistance — was  at  hand.  A  tall, 
gaunt  figure  strode  along  the  strand,  armed  with  a  long  fisher- 
man's pike,  or  hook,  a  weapon  commonly  used  to  take  codfish  off 
the  fishing-lines.  His  was  a  sinewy  arm,  which  few  could  resist  or 
disable. 

When  such  a  man  was  aroused,  harmless  and  peaceable  as  was 
his  general  character,  Ins  appearance  became  truly  terrific  ;  and 
his  firm  and  steady  step,  and  determined  resolution,  told  that  he 
was  a  soldier  of  cool  courage,  not  easily  to  be  beaten. 

It  was  old  Colson,  or  poor  Robinson  Crusoe,  who,  as  it  has 
been  stated,  was  making  Ins  way  with  fish  up  the  Orwell. 

He  and  young  Barry,  now  side  by  side,  beat  back  the  smugglers 
to  their  boat.  Desperate  was  the  contest  ;  but  there  was  no  oppos- 
ing the  unearthly-looking  being,  with  his  bones,  perforated  plates, 
and  charms  dangling  about  Ins  person.  Well  was  it  that  he  came 
so  opportunely,  for  without  his  help  the  fate  of  young  Barry  had 
been  sealed  for  ever.  It  was  bad  enough  as  it  was.  The  smugglers 
retreated,  and  jumped  into  their  boat.  Laud,  seizing  a  carabine, 
levelled  it  at  Barry,  whilst  Luff  pushed  off  the  boat  from  the  shore. 

' '  Let  fly  at  him,  Will !  let  fly  at  him  !  Revenge  yourself  and 
my  fall !  n 

A  flash  and  loud  explosion  followed  this  advice.  The  smoke 
cleared  off  in  a  second,  and  the  pirates  saw  but  the  stately  form 
of  Robin  standing  upon  the  shore.  Young  Barry — the  generous, 
brave,  and  faithful  Barry — lay  stretched  upon  the  sand. 

Meantime  Margaret  had  escaped.  She  had  reached  the  Priory 
Farm ;  and  rushing  into  the  room  where  the  harvest-men  were 
assembled,  fell  down  exhausted,  with  just  strength  of  voice  to  say, 
"Fly — fly — fly  to  the  shore  !     Barry  will  be  murdered  !  " 

The  gamekeeper  was  off  before  Margaret  arrived,  having  heard 


88  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

the  report  of  the  pistols  ;  and  he  went  into  the  wood.  The  young 
men  ran  off  to  the  shore,  and  soon  found  the  old  fisherman  support- 
ing the  head  of  the  poor  young  man.  The  blood  was  flowing  fast 
from  his  wounds,  and  he  was  in  a  swoon  like  death,  though  his 
heart  beat,  and  he  breathed  painfully.  They  formed  a  double 
row ;  they  lifted  him  up,  and  carried  him  along  as  gently  as  they 
could  ;  but  the  poor  fellow  groaned  with  the  agony  of  his  shattered 
arm  and  wounded  side. 

Robin  followed  them,  muttering  curses  against  the  foul  fiend, 
and  every  moment  pointing  to  the  departing  boat  of  the  smugglers 
with  a  clenched  fist,  exclaiming,  "  The  foul  fiend  be  with  you  ! 
He'll  consume  you  yet,  ye  cowards  !  " 


CHAPTER    VIIL 

DISAPPOINTMENT. 


There  is  a  sad  and  fearful  void  in  the  disappointed  heart. 

Poor  Margaret !  but  one  short  hour  past  and  thy  prospects  were 
as  bright  as  the  broad  moonlight  that  shone  upon  thy  path.  Yea, 
they  were  as  bright  to  thine  eye  as  that  beautiful  orb  in  the  most 
brilliant  night ;  for  thy  love  was  pure,  true,  and  abiding. 

How  great  was  the  reverse  our  heroine  experienced  when  she 
quitted  her  lover,  and  returned  to  the  Priory  Farm  worse  than 
desolate  !  Had  she  never  seen  him  again,  her  disappointment 
could  not  have  been  so  great.  Time  might  have  taught  her  to 
consider  him  lost  at  sea,  or  taken  by  the  enemy,  or  killed  in  battle, 
or  as  having  died  a  natural  death.  But  as  it  was,  the  tide  had 
turned  so  suddenly ;  the  change  from  the  full  flow  to  the  very  lowest 
ebb  was  as  instantaneous  as  if  some  gulf  had  swallowed  up  the 
river,  and  left  the  channel  dry.  Clouds,  black  clouds  intervened 
between  her  and  her  lover.  She  had  received  a  blight  to  all  her 
hopes,  save  one,  and  that  was  the  last  and  best  any  one  could 
cleave  to  ;  it  was,  "  that  God  would  change  his  heart,  and  one  day 
make  him  see  the  error  of  his  way." 

She  little  thought  how  distant  that  day  was.  But  it  seemed  that 
her  sister's  words  were  at  this  time  true  ;  "  Margaret,  you  will 
never  marry  William  Laud." 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  89 

Margaret  was  in  the  little  parlour  of  the  Priory  Farm,  in  all  the 
agony  of  terror  and  the  perturbation  of  confessing  her  faults  to  her 
master  and  mistress,  -when  the  murmur  of  returning  voices  told 
that  the  good  farmer's  men  were  coming  from  the  shore.  Her  soul 
was  so  full — her  heart  so  anxious — her  confession  so  open,  so 
sincere — that  even  they  who  were  most  angry  with  her  could  not 
find  it  in  their  hearts  to  be  harsh  and  severe  towards  her  at  such  a 
moment  of  distress.  She  was  so  full  of  terror  that  she  dared  not 
to  stir  ;  she  had  no  power  to  rise  and  make  inquiries  upon  the 
dreadful  point  upon  which  she  wished  to  be  most  satisfied.  She 
heard  the  footsteps  approach  ;  and  as  the  parlour-door  stood  open, 
looking  into  the  kitchen,  she  saw  the  young  men  bringing  in  the 
heavy  body  of  the  youth,  to  whom,  perhaps,  she  then  owed  her 
existence  ;  for  her  resolution  had  been  formed,  to  have  plunged 
into  the  waves  sooner  than  be  taken  away,  against  her  will,  by  the 
smugglers.  Certainly  she  owed  her  present  safety  to  the  intrepid 
boldness  of  that  wounded  man.  She  saw  them  bring  him  into  the 
kitchen,  pale,  bloody,  and,  as  she  first  thought,  lifeless  ;  but  a  heavy 
groan,  as  they  laid  him  down  upon  the  floor,  by  the  fire,  made  her 
start  up,  and  feel  the  first  spring  of  joy  in  her  desponding  heart, 
that  he  was  not  murdered.  But  the  joy  that  Laud  was  not  Iris 
murderer  was  as  great  as  that  the  youth  was  not  dead. 

Her  mistress's  voice,  calling  to  bring  water  and  assist  her,  restored 
her  to  a  consciousness  of  her  duties.  Here  might  be  seen  the 
benefit  of  active  employment  in  diverting  her  mind  from  its  most 
painful  feelings,  rousing  it  to  think,  and  turning  it  away  from 
tormenting  itself. 

The  surgeon  was  sent  for  immediately ;  and  after  a  short  delay 
in  preparing  a  bed  in  a  room  by  itself,  the  young  man  was  carried 
up  by  his  companions.  Never  was  there  a  more  melancholy  change 
from  the  mirth  of  "harvest-home"  to  the  misery  of  a  house  of 
woe.  To  look  into  that  kitchen,  which  so  shortly  before  was 
resounding  with  the  cheerful  voices  of  merriment,  and  to  see  the 
long  faces,  to  hear  ihe  whispers,  and  the  questions,  and  the  remarks 
made  upon  the  circumstances,  presented  a  scene  so  different  and  so 
painful,  that  description  would  fail  to  express  it.  There  sat  the 
ancient  fisherman,  silent  and  thoughtful,  his  left  hand  upon  his 
forehead,  and  his  right  clutched  convulsively  with  his  inward 
emotion.  There  stood  the  foreman  of  the  field,  with  his  fellow- 
labourers,  anxious  to  know  who  it  was  that  had  given  the  wround  : 


90  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCKPOLE. 

for  they  had  as  yet  only  been  told  that  two  men  in  a  boat  had 
fired  upon  Barry,  and  wounded  him. 

Meanwhile  the  old  fisherman,  who  had  witnessed  the  scene,  was 
so  absorbed  in  his  own  reflections,  that  he  did  not  seem  disposed 
voluntarily  to  afford  them  any  information. 

At  last  one  of  them  addressed  Robin. 

"  Who  was  the  fellow  that  fired  the  gun,  Robin  ?  " 

"  The  foul  fiend  !  "  said  Robin  ;  "  I  saw  him  in  the  boat." 
•     "  What  foul  fiend  1  was  he  devil  or  man  ?  " 

"  He  was  a  demon,  who  left  me  for  a  moment  to  torment  others. 
I  knew  mischief  would  come  of  him  as  soon  as  he  left  me.  He  is 
always  stirring  up  infernal  broils  ;  and  would  bring  a  host  of 
enemies  against  me,  if  it  were  not  for  this  charm.  Look  here/' 
and  taking  from  his  side  a  perforated  bone,  he  held  it  up,  saying, 
"  this  is  the  rib  of  Margery  Beddingfield,  who  was  gibbeted  on 
Rushmere  Heath  for  the  murder  of  her  husband.  When  I  show 
him  this,  he  will  soon  be  off.  This  is  so  strong  a  spell,  he  cannot 
touch  me.  But  look  !  there  he  is  !  there  he  is  !  "  and  the  startled 
hinds  closed  round  their  lord,  and  looked  fearfully  in  the  direction 
of  the  door,  to  see  if  the  murderer  was  coming. 

' '  Ay,  look  at  this,  thou  false  fiend  !  Dost  thou  remember  how 
thou  didst  stir  up  Margery,  and  Richard  Ringe  of  Stem  field,  her 
paramour,  to  murder  John  Beddingfield,  the  farmer,  near  Sax- 
mundham  ?  Thou  couldst  inflame  their  hot  young  blood  to  mis- 
chief ;  but  what  dost  thou  come  here  for  ?  Off  !  off,  I  say  !  Look 
here  !  thou  hadst  better  go  to  the  officers  of  justice.  Ha  !  ha  !  he 
is  gone  !  "  and  the  old  man  smiled  again,  as  if  he  had  defeated  his 
foe,  and  was  congratulating  himself  on  the  victory. 

These  things  were  very  unsatisfactory  to  the  minds  of  these 
plain-thinking  countrymen.  They  again  and  again  put  questions 
to  him,  but  could  get  no  other  answers  than  incoherencies  about 
the  foul  fiend. 

' '  But  what  had  Margaret  Catchpole  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"Ask  her  yourself  :  the  foul  fiend  always  finds  an  easier  prey 
in  a  woman." 

At  this  time  Margaret  came  into  the  room  ;  and  ignorant  as  she 
herself  was  of  Robin's  efficient  aid,  she  could  not  help  asking  him 
if  he  had  seen  the  fight. 

"  Did  you  see  it,  young  woman  ?  I  saw  you  long  before  I  saw 
the  fight." 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  9 1 

Margaret  did  not  ask  any  more  questions  ;  for  in  another  minute 
several  asked  her  who  had  been  lighting,  what  it  was  fur,  and  what 
she  had  to  do  with  it.  She  knew  too  well  to  speak  would  be  to 
betray  herself  ;  and  she  was  glad  to  find  they  were  in  ignorance 
of  the  real  perpetrator  of  the  deed.  She  was  called  into  the 
parlour  just  then,  and  rejuiced  to  escape  the  inquisitive  demands 
of  her  fellow-servants. 

"That's  a  clever  girl,"  said  old  Robin,  as  she  left  the  kitchen, — 
"that's  a  clever  girl.  Which  of  you  boys  would  like  her  for  a 
wife  ? » 

"  Ask  Will  Simpson,"  said  a  sly  fellow. 

"  Ask  poor  Jack  Barry,"  said  another  ;  "  'tis  my  belief  Jack  got 
his  blow  from  a  rival  in  Margaret's  love." 

••  What  fiend  told  you  that,  young  man  ?  'Tis  seldom  any  of 
'em  speak  the  truth  i  But,  perhaps,  you  know  who  he  is  that 
rivals  Jack  I  " 

"  No,  not  I— not  I.  I  know  who  he  would  be,  if  he  was  alive  ; 
and  just  the  sort  of  fellow,  too,  to  give  Jack  a  nab.  But  he's 
dead  and  gone  long  ago,  and  maybe  his  bones  are  at  the  bottom  of 
the  sea,  for  he  was  killed  on  Felixstow  beach." 

"  Who's  he?  who's  he?" 

"Why,  Will  Laud,  the  smuggler.  Don't  you  know  him, 
Robin  f" 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  never  knew  that  he  was  dead." 

"Oh,  yes,  he's  dead  enough.  I  saw  a  fellow  who  told  me  he 
helped  to  bury  him  in  the  sands  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff." 

"  Then  the  foul  fiend  has  brought  him  back  to  life  again,  for  I 
have  seen  him  many  times  ;  and  I  spoke  to  him  this  very  night, 
and  he  to  me.  Not  only  so,  I  know  him  well ;  and  I  wish  all 
the  fiends  had  him  before  he  had  given  that  brave  lad  his  death- 
blow." 

"What  !  Will  Laud  ?  you  do  not  mean  to  say  Will  Laud  was 
on  the  shore  to-night  1 " 

"  Ask  Margaret  Catchpole  :  she  can  tell  you  as  much  as  I." 

Margaret  returned  just  as  this  was  said  ;  and  Will  Simpson, 
perhaps  as  much  in  spite  (for  Margaret  had,  upon  some  occasion 
of  his  rudeness,  given  him  such  a  specimen  of  her  dexterity  with 
a  frying-pan,  as  left  a  memorial  on  his  head  not  easily  to  be 
forgotten  or  forgiven)  as  for  inquisitiveness,  put  this  question — 

"I  say,  Peggy,  who  met  you  upon  the  shore  to-night,  eh  1" 


92  THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

"  What's  that  to  you  ?     A  better  man  than  you." 

"Perhaps  a  better  Will,  too;  eh,  Peggy?  One  who  will  have 
his  will  of  you,  too,  before  you  die,  and  tame  you,  my  dear." 

"  Perhaps  he  may  ;  and  should  it  be  so,  he  will  make  a  '  will  o' 
the  wisp '  of  you,  Simpson." 

' { He'll  be  hanged  first,  Peggy,  take  my  word  for  that.  He'll  not 
be  shot,  nor  drowned  :  he's  born  to  be  hanged." 

"  And  what  are  you  born  for,  you  coward,  that,  at  such  a  time 
•as  this,  you  should  be  quarrelling  with  me  1  " 

"  I'm  born  to  be  his  informer;  and,  before  long,  Fll  have  you 
both  up  before  the  Squire,  for  all  this  piece  of  work ." 

Margaret  did  not  like  this  banter ;  it  looked  as  if  they  already 
knew  that  Will  Laud  was  the  intruder.  She  was  somewhat  less 
ready  at  her  replies  than  usual,  and  felt  too  great  a  fear  that  she 
might  commit  herself.     She  tried,  therefore,  to  turn  the  subject. 

"  My  master,  Robin,  desires  me  to  give  you  some  supper." 

"Thank  your  master,  but  I  have  had  mine;  and,  but  that  I 
hoped  to  hear  what  the  doctor  said  to  the  poor  young  man 
upstairs,  I  should  long  ago  have  been  on  board  my  boat.'' 

The  greatest  cowards  are  not  easily  silenced  when  they  find 
themselves  able  to  browbeat  an  adversary  with  impunity,  and 
that  adversary  a  woman. 

"  Well,  Margaret,  if  you  won't  tell  me,  I'll  tell  you  whom  you 
met  upon  the  shore.  You  met  one  whom  Robin  says  the  foul  fiend 
has  raised  to  life  again." 

Margaret  turned  very  pale,  and  staggered  to  a  chair.  But 
Simpson  still  went  on. 

"  O  Peggy,  Peggy,  you  have  a  guilty  face  !  I  don't  wonder  at 
your  feeling  shame.  You've  managed  to  hide  the  smuggler,  have 
you  ?  If  you  don't  take  care,  both  you  and  Will  Laud  will  come 
to  a  bad  end." 

Margaret  rushed  into  the  parlour,  and  fell  at  her  master's  feet, 
imploring  him  to  interfere  and  stop  the  reproaches  of  his  men,  who 
were  treating  her  in  a  way  she  did  not  deserve.  Her  mistress  made 
her  sit  down  in  the  keeping-room  ;  and,  speaking  a  few  words  to 
her  husband,  he  left  them.  He  remonstrated  with  his  men,  and 
was  in  the  act  of  insisting  upon  their  departure  to  their  homes,  as 
Dr.  Stebbing  arrived.  He  was  desired  at  once  to  go  into  the 
parlour  ;  and  there  he  recognised  that  high-spirited  girl  who,  in 
the  cause  of  humanity,  had,  in  her  childhood,  galloped  the  pony 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  93 

to  Ipswich  for  his  aid.  She  rose  and  curtseyed  ;  but  her  feet 
gave  way  under  her,  and  she  sank  to  the  floor.  The  memory  of 
her  dear  sister,  the  doctor's  former  patient,  her  own  happiness  at 
that  time,  and  her  present  misery,  were  too  much  for  her  to 
bear,  and  she  was  quite  overcome.  The  good  doctor  raised  her 
up,  and,  with  his  cheerful  voice,  tried,  in  his  usual  kind  way,  to 
comfort  her. 

"Come,  come,  my  girl,  what's  the  matter?  what's  the  matter? 
Are  you  the  patient  I've  come  all  this  way  to  see  ?  I  thought  I 
was  sent  for  to  see  a  young  man.  But  what's  the  matter  with 
you  1  Ah  !  is  it  so,  my  lassie  ? "  (for  his  sagacity  gave  him  a 
glimpse  of  the  truth).  "Come,  cheer  up,  cheer  up;  we'll  go  and 
see  the  lad.     I  daresay  he'll  soon  be  better.     Cheer  up,  cheer  up." 

"Come,  my  good  sir,  let  us  have  a  light,  and  go  upstairs,"  said 
the  doctor  to  the  master  of  the  house.  "  Now,  my  dear,  go  and 
fetch  us  a  towel  and  some  warm  water.  Come,  bestir  yourself  ;  I 
know  it  will  do  you  good." 

This  was  the  best  medicine  for  Margaret,  with  whom  to  be  told 
to  do  anything,  and  not  to  go  and  do  it,  was  almost  an  impossi- 
bility, so  much  had  she  been  accustomed  to  obey. 

All  that  could  be  done  for  the  youth  was  to  lay  him  in  as  easy 
a  posture  as  possible  ;  for  he  was  in  too  much  agony  even  to  have 
his  clothes  removed.  One  of  his  companions  sat  and  wiped  the 
cold  perspiration  from  his  brows,  whilst  another  washed  his  hands 
and  face.  He  breathed  quickly  and  heavily,  with  shuddering  fits 
that  shook  the  bed  violently,  and  he  was  evidently  in  great  pain. 

"  Come,  my  lads,  come,  lend  me  a  hand — let  us  see — let  us  see  ! 
where  is  the  hurt  ? — where  is  the  wound  ? — Avhat's  the  lad's  name  ?  " 

"  John  Barry,  sir." 

u  John,  my  lad,  let's  look  at  you  !  "  but  John  took  no  notice  of 
the  doctor. 

"  I  think,  sir,  his  arm  is  broke,  for  it  dangled  by  his  side  all  the 
way  we  carried  him." 

"Let  us  see,  my  boy,  let  us  see  !  'Tis  broken  !  high  up  too, 
too  high  up.  But  we  must  strip  him.  Gently  there — gently  there, 
my  lad  ; "  and  the  groans  of  the  poor  fellow  told  his  agony.  The 
work  was  done  with  great  care,  and  by  slow  degrees.  But  it  was 
done,  and  then  the  frightful  nature  of  his  wounds  became  con- 
spicuous :  a  gunshot  wound  from  the  middle  of  the  arm  to  the 
shoulder.     The  ball  had  struck  the  humerus,  and  broken  it,  glanced 


94  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

over  the  head  of  it,  and  passed  between  the  scapula  and  clavicle, 
and  it  might  be  easily  felt  lying  in  the  external  portion  of  the 
trapezian  muscle.  It  was  so  near  the  skin  that  it  was  easily  ex- 
tracted ;  the  difficulty  was  to  get  away  those  parts  of  the  clothing 
which  had  been  carried  into  the  wound.  Such  was  the  effect  of 
the  first  shot. 

The  second  was  the  most  severe.  It  had  pierced  through  the 
long  dorsal  muscle,  and  the  ball  lay  directly  against  the  lumbar 
vertebrae.  This  wound  was  the  more  agonising  because  it  had 
pierced  the  strongest  muscles  of  the  human  frame,  and  bruised  the 
stoutest  part  of  the  back-bone. 

After  the  doctor  had  examined  his  wounds  and  ascertained  that 
they  were  of  the  most  serious  nature,  he  said — 

"  This  will  be  a  work  of  time.  Get  some  stimulants — put  warm 
flannels  on  his  feet — his  extremities  are  icy  cold.  He  has  had 
violent  exertion — all  his  muscles  are  hard  and  stiff.  Put  his  hands 
in  warm  water.  Wash  his  temples  with  warm  vinegar.  There, 
there ;  come,  my  poor  fellow,  come ;  consciousness  will  soon 
return." 

He  opened  his  eyes,  looked  at  the  doctor,  then  at  his  master, 
then  at  his  friends,  and  at  last  at  Margaret,  who  was  putting  warm 
flannels  to  his  feet.  He  looked  earnestly  at  her,  spoke  not,  but  a 
tear  stole  down  his  face  as  he  closed  his  eyes  again. 

His  wounds  were  now  probed,  cleaned,  and  dressed,  as  carefully 
as  if  he  had  been  one  of  the  wealthiest  squires  or  nobles  of  the 
land,  and  he  was  then  left  for  the  night,  attended  by  two  of  his 
fellow-servants,  in  case  he  should  need  assistance  or  restraint. 

"There,  there,  good-night,  John,  good-night.  I  think  you'll  do 
now.  Come,  come,  he  feels  a  little  easier.  He  breathes  better  ; " 
and  patting  his  cheeks  in  his  good-humoured  way,  Dr.  Stebbing 
left  him,  and  went  down  into  the  parlour. 

i  There  is  always  a  little  chit-chat  with  the  doctor  after  the  usual 
labour  of  his  profession  is  over,  and  he  is  quietly  seated  with  the 
-  family.  It  is  then  he  judges  of  what  is  best  for  his  patient,  for  at 
such  times  the  secrets  of  most  families  come  forth ;  and  if  love  or 
law,  if  loss  of  stock  or  money,  if  cruelties,  injuries,  or  any  causes 
whatever  have  been  acting  upon  the  patient's  mind,  the  doctor  is 
sure  to  be  made  the  confidant. 

If  the  faculty  could  find  out  the  means  of  supplying  all  their 
invalids  with  such  things  as  they  really  wanted,  they  would  soon 


THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  95 

get  well,  but  in  default  of  such  means,  medicine  and  good  advice 
— very  necessary  articles  in  their  way — are  supplies  in  which  the 
faculty  seldom  fail. 

"  Doctor,  will  you  take  anything  to-night?  you  have  had  a  cold 
ride,  and  will  have  another  on  your  way  home— shall  my  mistress 
give  you  anything  warm  ]  " 

"  I  care  not  if  she  does.  A  little  nutmeg  in  a  little  warm  brandy- 
and-water,  and  just  one  slice  of  your  nice  harvest-cake,  and  I  shall 
be  comfortable."  » 

The  first  question  asked  of  the  doctor  was,  "  What  he  thought  of 
his  patient  1 " 

"  Why,  he  has  got  an  ugly  wound  that  will  take  months  to  heal. 
He  will  not  be  able  to  be  moved  for  six  or  seven  weeks.  Where  do 
his  parents  live  ?  " 

"At  Levington,"  was  the  reply.  "His  father  is  tolerably  well 
to  do  in  the  world,  though  he  has  a  large  family.  I  have  not  a 
steadier  young  man  on  my  premises,  nor  a  quieter,  soberer,  or 
better  behaved  lad,  or  a  better  workman  belonging  to  me." 

"  So  much  the  better.  But  what  does  the  old  fisherman  do  in 
the  kitchen  ?  I  thought  he  never  sat  down  in  any  house,  but  always 
kept  to  his  boat  ?  " 

"  He  is  only  waiting  to  speak  to  you,  doctor.  At  least,  he  said 
he  should  stop  to  hear  your  report. '' 

"  I  should  like  to  have  one  word  with  him." 

"I'll  go  and  tell  him  so  ;  "  and  off  trotted  the  worthy  farmer  for 
Robin,  with  whom  he  soon  returned,  and  then,  beckoning  to  his 
wife,  they  left  him  and  the  doctor  alone  together. 

"  Well,  Robin,  what  an  odd  fish  you  are  !  I  can  never  persuade 
you  to  come  into  my  kitchen,  and  here  you  are,  hail  fellow  well 
met,  with  the  farmer's  men  at  Harvest-Home.  How  is  this,  Robin  ? 
I  shall  tell  my  daughter  of  you,  and  leave  her  to  set  some  of  your 
foul  fiends  to  work  upon  you.*' 

"They've  been  at  work  pretty  well  to-night,  doctor,  or  else  I'm 
wofully  mistaken.  One  of  'em  has  done  a  pretty  job  of  mischief 
here  ;  and  it's  well  if  he  don't  do  more  before  he's  done." 

The  doctor  understood  his  dialect,  and  knew  how  to  get  out  of 
him  what  he  wanted. 

"  Who  did  the  foul  fiend  work  upon  1  who  was  his  victim  1  " 

"  He  left  my  boat,  and  went  aboard  Will  Laud's." 

"  What !  the  smuggler  ?     I  thought  he  was  shot  long  a^o." 


96  THE   HISTORY  OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

"So  others  thought,  but  not  I ;  for  I  saw  him  and  a  sturdy 
villain  of  his  pass  my  boat,  with  all  their  sails  set ;  and  when  my 
Infernal  Broiler  left  me,  and  sat  grinning  on  his  mast,  I  knew  he 
was  up  to  mischief." 

"  What  mischief,  Robin  ?  " 

"  Why,  look  ye,  doctor  ;  you  must  ha'  seen  the  mischief.  Ha'en't 
you  dressed  the  young  man's  wounds  ?  " 

"Yes,  Robin:  but  how  came  your  imp  to  be  the  cause  of 
this  1  " 

"  Nay,  that  you  must  ask  the  girl  here  ;  for  seldom  do  my  imps 
fail  to  make  mischief  among  the  sex." 

"  Was  it  a  love  affair  1 " 

"  Nay,  it  didn't  appear  much  o'  that."  And  here  Robin,  in  his 
quaint  language,  well  understood  by  the  doctor,  told  his  own  tale 
as  it  happened. 

"  Well,  Robin,  all  I  can  say  is,  that,  but  for  you,  one  of  the 
finest  young  fellows  in  the  land  would  have  lost  his  life  ;  and  there's 
a  guinea  for  you." 

"  No,  no,  master  ;  give  me  a  guinea  for  my  fish,  but  don't  give 
me  a  guinea  for  doing  no  more  than  I  ought  to  do.  Give  it  to  the 
poor  boy  for  loss  of  time.  I've  got  some  good  fish,  and  you  may 
have  some  to-morrow  morning  ;  but  the  fiends  would  torment  me  all 
night,  if  I  went  to  my  hammock  with  a  guinea  for  my  reward.  No, 
doctor,  no.  I  thank  you,  too  ;  but  tell  me  the  boy  will  do  well, 
and  I'm  well  paid  for  my  pains." 

"  He  will  do  well,  I  think,  Robin,  if  his  mind  be  not  disturbed." 

The  doctor  felt,  as  perhaps  the  reader  will,  that  the  honest  old 
fisherman,  bewitched  and  bewildered  as  he  was,  had  more  good 
feeling  about  him  than  many  a  man  of  clearer  head  and  a  less 
scrupulous  conscience,  who  would  have  crept  along  the  mud  to  pick 
up  a  guinea  for  his  dirty  pocket. 

"  Well,  well,  my  boy,  I  shall  not  find  such  an  odd  fish  in  your 
boat  as  your  own  self.  You  may  bring  up  your  basket  to  my  door, 
and  my  daughter  will  deal  with  you.  Instead  of  a  guinea,  I  must 
give  you  any  charm  that  you  can  ask  me  for." 

"  Keep  to  that,  doctor,  and  I'll  ask  you  soon  to  give  me  one 
that  I  stand  much  in  need  of,  and  which  you  only  can  furnish  me 
with.  You  are  surgeon  to  the  gaol,  and  I  want  something  out  of 
that  place.  I'll  tell  you,  one  of  these  days,  what  it  is.  My  boat  is 
now  high  and  dry  upon  the  shore.     You  might  ask  some  of  the 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  97 

landsmen  here  to  lend  me  a  hand  to  get  her  off.     I  shall  be  in 
Ipswich  as  soon  as  yourself." 

No  sooner  was  the  request  made  than  it  was  granted  ;  and  Robin 
and  five  or  six  good  stout  fellows  were  on  the  shore,  and  soon 
shoved  the  boat  off,  which,  quicker  than  the  men  could  walk  upon 
the  sand,  moved  on  her  native  element  to  the  well-timed  stroke  of 
the  able  fisherman. 

The  doctor's  first  introduction  to  the  flying  Margaret  is  well 
known  to  the  reader.  His  knowledge  of  her  under  those  circum- 
stances made  him  feel  for  her  ;  but  there  were  some  questions  he 
wished  to  put  to  her,  as  his  curiosity  had  been  excited  by  what 
Robin  had  revealed.  The  farmer  had  already  given  him  some  hint 
about  her  confessions  ;  but  the  doctor  wanted  to  find  out  whether, 
after  what  had  taken  place  that  night,  the  tide  of  her  affections 
might  not  have  turned  a  little  toward  his  patient.  It  was  a  delicate 
question  to  ask,  but  he  thought  he  would  find  it  out  by  another 
plan  ;  so  he  desired  to  see  Margaret  in  the  parlour  before  he  left 
the  house. 

"  I  did  not  hajf  like  your  look,  my  girl,  when  I  first  saw  you 
to-night.  Come  hither;  let  me  feel  your  pulse  :  let  me  look  at 
your  tongue.  Your  pulse  is  quick,  and  you've  some  fever  hanging 
about  you." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  I  shall  be  better  to-morrow.  I'm  very  sorry 
for  what  has  happened." 

"  You  could  not  help  it,  my  girl — you  could  not  help  it ;  it  was 
not  your  fault." 

"  I  don't  know  that,  sir, — I  don't  know  that.  I  blame  myself 
much  ;  but — but " 

"  But  you  don't  like  to  blame  anybody  else,  Margaret  ;  I  know 
you." 

"  Well,  sir,  that's  the  truth  ;  but  yet  he  was  to  blame." 

"Who?  Barry?" 

M  No,  sir,  no  ;  but  he  who  shot  him." 

"  Yes,  he  was  a  cowardly  fellow.     What  induced  him  to  do  it  ?  " 

"  Because  Barry's  brother  shot  him.  I  suspect  he  was  excited  at 
the  remembrance  of  his  own  sufferings,  and  urged  on  to  despera- 
tion by  the  fellow  that  was  with  him  ;  and,  in  a  moment  of 
madness,  thought  to  revenge  himself." 

"  This  was  not  right,  Margaret ;  it  was  still  very  cowardly." 

"  Why,  yes,  it  was  ;  but — but,  I  do  not  defend  him,  sir." 


98  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

"  What  then,  Margaret  ?  what  then  ? " 

"  Why,  I  was  to  blame,  sir  !  " 

"  Why  so?" 

"  Because  I  told  him  Barry  loved  me,  sir." 

"  Ho,  ho  !  a  little  jealousy,  was  it  ?  Was  it  so,  Margaret  1  Well, 
well,  he  will  be  more  jealous  now." 

"  I  'm  sorry  for  it,  sir.  Had  I  not  thought  he  would  have  known 
my  preference  for  him,  I  should  not  have  told  him  this.  It  is  this 
I  blame  myself  for,  as  much  as  I  do  him.  I  hope  Barry  will  do 
well,  sir." 

"  Your  hopes  may  be  disappointed,  Margaret.  His  is  a  very  bad 
case  ;  and,  if  he  dies,  Will  Laud  Avill  be  hanged." 

"  Then  jow  know  all,  sir  ?     Oh,  pray  save  him  if  you  can,  sir  ! " 

"  Who?" 

"John  Barry,  sir, — John  Barry." 

"  Margaret,  do  you  love  him  ? " 

"  No,  sir  ;  yes — yes,  sir.  I  think  he  is  a  very  good  young  man, 
and  he  would  be  a  great  loss  to  his  parents." 

"  More  so  than  to  you,  my  girl  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,  yes.  I'm  sure  I  wish  him  well,  and  shall  always 
feel  grateful  to  him  for  his  kindness  to  me.  I  do  hope  he  will 
recover,  sir,  for  Laud's  sake." 

This  was  enough  ;  the  doctor  now  knew  all.  He  saw  that  his 
patient  was  in  love  with  Margaret,  but  that  Margaret  loved  an- 
other. He  was  in  possession  of  the  whole  secret.  He  promised 
to  do  all  he  could  ;  he  dismissed  the  girl  ;  and,  after  a  few  minutes' 
further  chat  with  the  master  and  mistress  of  the  house,  and 
strongly  advising  them  to  send  for  Barry's  parents  in  the  morning 
he  took  his  leave.  His  little  bay  pony  soon  rattled  up  Gains- 
borough's Lane,  through  the  open  fields  toward  the  Race  course, 
and  over  Bishop's  Hill,  to  the  town  of  Ipswich. 

Barry's  parents  were  not  long  in  coming  to  their  son,  nor  long  in 
learning  the  reai  state  both  of  his  mind  and  body.  It  is  the  happiest 
time  to  die  when  a  parent's  tender  care  is  round  you.  Then  the 
agony  of  suffering  is  greatly  relieved,  and  the  heart  can  open  its 
most  inward  thoughts.  It  turns,  with  such  filial  respect  and  thank- 
fulness, towards  those  whom  it  does  not  like  to  grieve,  but  who 
are  always  the  most  quicksighted  to  see  our  wants  and  to  relieve 
our  distresses.  So  gentle  is  a  mother's  love — so  delicate,  so  sooth- 
ing, so  healing  to  the  youthful  mind,  that  nature  almost  decays 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  99 

with,  pleasure  before  her  soft  attentions.  Nor  is  a  father's  manli- 
ness and  feeling  less  sensibly  experienced  at  such  a  time.  He  may 
not  have  a  woman's  gentleness,  but  he  has  a  firmness  and  a 
quietness  of  action  winch  are  seldom  seen  at  other  times,  and 
which  make  a  sick  room  seem  more  calm  and  sufferable.  He  has 
quite  as  deep  feeling,  though  it  is  more  subdued.  Who  that  ever 
has  been  ill  in  his  youth,  and  has  seen  the  kindness  of  parental 
love,  but  has  thought  that  he  never  could  die  happier  than  when 
his  fond  parents  were  near  him  ? 

So  thought  young  Barry  when  his  parents  were  by  his  side  ;  and 
not  only  thought  so,  but  plainly  told  them  that  he  wished  to  die. 

"  I  hope  not  yet,  my  boy,"  said  his  father.  "  The  young  sapling 
may  get  a  blight,  but  it  soon  recovers,  and  springs  up  vigorously  ; 
but  the  old  trees  naturally  decay.     I  hope  to  go  first,  my  boy." 

"  Yes,  father,  such  may  be  your  hope  and  natural  expectation  ; 
but  Heaven  avert  it  !  You  have  others  to  live  for ;  may  I  never 
live  to  see  your  death  !  " 

"  Come,  John,  do  not  give  way  to  such  feelings.  You  know  not 
yet  what  the  good  God  may  have  in  store  for  you." 

"He  has,  indeed,  been  good  to  me,  father,  and  has  left  me 
nothing  more  to  wish  for  in  this  world." 

"Perhaps  not  for  your  own  benefit,  John  ;  but  we  are  not  always 
to  die  just  when  we  wish  it.  Neither  are  we  to  live  merely  for 
ourselves.  We  are  called  upon  to  live  for  others  ;  and  more  may 
be  expected  of  us  on  this  account  than  upon  our  own.  We  are  not 
to  be  such  selfish  beings  as  to  think,  '  The  wind  blows  only  for  our 
own  mill.'  " 

"  I  meant  not  to  find  fault,  father  ;  but  I  am  disappointed,  and 
feel  therefore  useless." 

"  I  know  your  disappointment,  boy  ;  but  I  would  not  have  you 
take  it  so  to  heart  as  to  let  it  prey  upon  your  spirits.  There  are 
others  far  better  and  more  worthy  of  you,  who  may  esteem  you, 
John,  for  your  good  conduct  and  character  ;  and  one  of  such  may 
make  you  an  excellent  companion  for  life." 

"  Father,  I  know  I  am  not  so  wise  as  you  are.  I  have  not  your 
experience  ;  yet  this  I  feel  and  say,  that  I  hope  you  will  never  find 
fault  with  that  poor  girl."' 

"I  will  not,  John,  in  your  presence  ;  but  how  can  a  father  help 
feeling  hurt  and  angry  with  a  girl  who  prefers  a  smuggler  to  an 
honest  man  ? " 

7 


IOO  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

"  That  may  or  may  not  be  a  fault ;  but  you  just  now  told  me 
we  should  live  for  others,  and  not  be  so  selfish  as  to  think  only  of 
ourselves.  Now,  I  do  believe  that  Margaret  lives  only  in  the 
hope  that  Will  Laud  will  become  an  altered  man." 

"  He  never  will !  A  lawless  villain,  who  will  revenge  a  blow 
upon  the  innocent  hand  that  never  gave  it,  has  a  heart  too  repro- 
bate and  stony  ever  to  change.'' 

"  You  will  not  say  it  is  impossible  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  say  it  is  a  thing  impossible  with  God  ;  but 
you  seemed  to  think  that,  by  Margaret's  influence,  such  a  change 
might  be  effected.  This,  I  say,  will  never  be.  Laud  may  influence 
her,  and  may  corrupt  her  mind  ;  but,  take  my  word  for  it,  the  man 
whose  love  is  swallowed  up  in  the  violence  of  passion,  as  his  is,  will 
never  produce  any  thing  good.  He  will  be  a  selfish  villain  even 
toward  the  poor  unfortunate  victim  of  his  choice." 

"  Oh,  father,  would  that  you  could  persuade  Margaret  of  this  ! 
She  is  indeed  a  good  girl,  and  a  warm-hearted  one  ;  and,  had  she 
received  any  education,  would  have  been  as  good  and  respectable  as 
my  own  dear  mother." 

"  All  this  may  be,  John  ;  but,  if  I  could  persuade  you  out  of 
this  fit  of  fancy,  I  then  might  have  hope  that  I  should  have  some 
power  of  persuasion  with  Margaret.  Till  then  I  shall  stand  no 
chance.  For,  if  I  cannot  root  the  weeds  out  of  my  own  ground, 
how  shall  I  be  fit  to  work  for  others  ]  " 

The  young  man  sighed  deeply,  and  could  answer  no  more.  He 
felt  the  force  of  the  superior  wisdom  of  his  father  ;  and,  owning 
to  himself  that  there  was  much  truth  in  the  remark,  felt  how  diffi- 
cult it  would  indeed  be  to  conquer  in  his  own  heart  his  hopeless 
attachment. 

In  due  time,  Barry's  wounds  progressed  towards  recovery,  and 
it  was  agreed  among  his  fellow-labourers  that,  before  the  cold 
weather  should  set  in,  they  would  form  a  corps  for  carrying  him 
home  to  Levington.  Twelve  undertook  the  task  ;  and,  one  fine 
October  day,  they  managed  to  place  him  and  his  bed  upon  a  frame, 
made  for  the  occasion,  to  which  were  attached  shoulder-pieces,  and 
bo  conveyed  him  to  his  father's  residence,  where  all  things  were 
made  ready  by  his  mother's  hand  for  his  reception. 


THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  ioi 

CHAPTER    IX. 

EVIL   WAYS. 

Onward  went  the  boat  to  the  haven  at  the  mouth  of  the  river, 
and  the  two  guilty  souls  in  her  felt  that  they  hacf  narrowly  escaped 
capture,  and  that,  if  the  law  of  the  land  should  ever  lay  hold  upon 
them,  they  would  both  have  to  rue  the  foul  deed  they  had  com- 
mitted. But  the  law  of  the  land  had  long  been  set  at  defiance  by 
them  ;  and  they  owned  none  but  those  of  the  wind  and  weather, 
tfhich  compelled  them  to  run  for  foreign  ports,  and  to  slink  into 
those  of  their  own  country  at  the  dead  of  night. 

After  various  congratulations  upon  their  luck  in  getting  off,  and 
making  many  remarks  upon  the  late  encounter,  they  turned  to  their 
duties  as  sailors,  kept  their  boat  trim,  and  scudded  along,  with 
all  sails  set,  toward  the  Aide,  which  now  lay  in  the  shade  of 
Felixstow  Cliff,  moored,  as  if  waiting  wind  and  tide  to  carry  her 
up  the  river.  They  were  well  acquainted  with  the  spot,  and  bore 
away  through  the  bright  moonlight,  reached  the  mouth  of  the 
river,  and  were  at  length  lifted  up  by  the  rolling  waves  of  old 
Ocean,  which  came  tumbling  in  from  the  harbour's  mouth. 

"  The  light  burns  low  by  the  water's  edge,  and  is  hidden  from 
the  sentinel  on  Landguard  Fort.  All's  right  ;  we  shall  be  on  board 
presently." 

Soon  did  they  run  along  the  side  of  the  dark  cutter ;  and  giving 
the  signal,  "  Aldeburgh,"  were  well  understood  by  the  dark-looking 
sailor  who  kept  watch  upon  the  forecastle  of  the  ship.  All  was 
right  ;  and  when  the  captain  came  on  board,  all  hands  were  had 
up,  the  sails  quickly  set,  and  the  anchor  weighed.  Luff  took 
the  helm,  the  captain  retired  to  his  cabin,  and  in  a  short  time 
the  boat  was  hoisted  in,  and  away  they  dashed  to  sea. 

The  dark  dreams  of  the  captain  were  mingled  with  the  visions 
of  his  past  failure,  and  disturbed  with  the  jealousy  and  hatred 
of  all  the  Barrys.  The  phosphoric  lights  upon  the  sea,  as  the 
vessel  glided  through  the  waves,  made  it  look  like  a  boiling  ocean 
of  flame,  like  burning  waters  ;  and  the  spray  which  the  waves 
gave  off  resembled  smoke.  They  were  fiery  spirits  who  lived  on 
board  that  vessel,  as  ardent  as  the  liquid  flame  they  bore  in  their 


102  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE* 

tubs,  and  about  as  productive  of  good.  Could  the  history  of  every 
one  on  board  the  Aide  be  told,  it  would  make  the  blood  curdle 
in  the  veins  of  many  a  stout  landsman.  They  were  pirates  as 
well  as  smugglers.  Secrecy  and  crime  went  hand-in-hand  with 
them.  Daylight  and  honesty  were  things  scarcely  known  amongst 
them. 

The  chief  employer  of  these  men  lived,  as  the  reader  knows,  in 
tolerable  repute,  sometimes  at  one  place,  sometimes  at  another. 
He  had  many  vessels  at  sea,  and  Captain  Bargood  was  as  well 
known  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  German  Ocean  as  on  this.  He 
accumulated  riches,  but  he  never  enjoyed  them.  He  lived  in  a 
kind  of  terror  which  those  only  who  have  felt  it  can  describe. 
He  out-lived,  however,  all  his  ships  and  all  his  ships'  companies  ; 
and  looked,  to  the  day  of  his  death,  an  old  weather-beaten  log, 
which  had  outstood  storms  and  tempests,  and  come  ashore  at  last 
to  be  consumed.  He  prided  himself,  in  his  old  days,  upon  the 
many  daring  captains  he  had  made,  and  the  manner  in  which  he 
had  secretly  commanded  them.  He  had  a  regular  register  of  their 
appointments  and  their  course,  how  many  trips  each  ship  had 
taken,  how  she  paid,  how  she  was  lost  or  taken,  and  what  became 
of  her  and  her  crew.  That  fearful  log-book  could  tell  of  many 
a  horrid  tale.  It  would  also  serve  to  show  the  enormous  extent 
of  illicit  traffic  carried  on  at  that  period  by  one  man  alone. 

We  must  now  return  to  the  Aide.  While  dashing  through  the 
sea,  past  the  sand-bank,  or  bar,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Deben,  those 
on  board  saw  a  solitary  light  burning  in  Ramsholt  church,  a  sign 
that  she  might  send  a  boat  on  shore  in  safety.  Luff  undertook 
to  go.  He  did  so,  and  found  a  messenger  from  Captain  Bargood 
to  land  the  cargo  at  the  Eastern  Cliff,  as  the  coast-guard  had 
received  information  that  a  run  was  going  to  take  place  at  Sizewell 
Gap,  and  they  had  therefore  drawn  away  their  men,  that  their 
force  at  that  point  might  be  strong  enough. 

The  work  was  soon  done,  and  the  desperate  crew  betook  them- 
selves to  their  cave,  to  spend  a  night  of  revel  and  carouse,  such  as 
spirits  like  theirs  only  could  delight  in. 

To  the  surprise  of  many,  Will  Laud  remained  on  board,  and 
preferred  taking  a  cruise,  and  coming  in  again  the  following  night 
for  the  ship's  company.  The  fact,  however,  was,  that  he  was  afraid 
of  the  land.  The  consciousness  of  his  guilt  and  the  fear  of  the 
revenge  of  Barry,  should  the  coast-guard  hear  of  his  attack  upon 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  103 

young  Barry,  the  brother,  acted  upon  his  nerves,  and  made  him 
think  himself  safe  only  on  the  bread  sea. 

A  certain  number  of  men  always  remained  on  board  to  take  the 
vessel  out  of  sight  of  the  land  until  the  night,  and  then  only  were 
these  free-traders  able  to  near  the  shore.  The  lives  of  these  men 
were  always  in  jeopardy,  and  none  of  them  ever  turned  out  good 
husbands  or  friends.  When  they  were  compelled  to  leave  off  the 
contraband  traffic,  they  generally  took  to  poaching,  and  led  fearful 
and  miserable  lives  ;  which,  if  traced  to  their  close,  would  generally 
be  found  to  end  in  sorrow,  if  not  in  the  extremity  of  horror. 

John  Luff  had  an  interview  with  Captain  Bargood,  and  then 
told  him  of  Will  Laud's  awkward  situation  upon  the  banks  of  the 
Orwell. 

"A  lucky  fellow  to  escape  as  he  did!"  exclaimed  Bargood, 
"  He  might  have  been  at  this  moment  in  Ipswich  gaol,  and  from 
thence  he  would  only  have  escaped  through  the  hangman's  hands." 

"  We  must  keep  him  out  of  the  way,  sir.  We  must  again  report 
him  killed,  and  change  his  name  from  Hudson.  He  is  already 
known  as  Will  Laud,  and  his  fame  will  spread  along  the  shore." 

"Well,  he  is  a  lucky  fellow.  He  should  go  round  the  world. 
1*11  send  him,  ship  and  crew,  a  good  long  voyage.  Something  may 
be  done  in  the  fur-trade  this  winter.  I  have  received  a  notice  that 
I  might  send  a  ship,  and  cheat  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  of  a 
good  cargo  of  skins.     What  shall  we  dub  the  captain  ]  " 

"Let's  call  him  Captain  Cook  ;  I'll  tell  the  crew  it's  your  desire 
to  have  the  captain  honoured  for  his  success  by  giving  him  the 
title  of  the  great  navigator." 

11  That  will  do,  John— that  will  do.  Take  these  orders  to  Captain 
Cook.  Give  these  presents  to  the  men.  Tell  them  to  disperse 
themselves  upon  a  visit  to  their  friends,  and  meet  again  at  the 
Cliff  on  the  12th  of  next  month,  for  the  purpose  of  making  a  long 
voyage.  In  the  meantime  do  you  and  the  captain  contrive  to  get 
the  ship  into  friendly  quarters  abroad,  and  if  you  like  to  run 
ashore  yourselves,  there  is  my  cottage  at  Butley  Moor,  and  you 
can  take  possession  of  it.  But  keep  yourselves  quiet  Five  of 
the  crew  belong  to  Butley,  and  I  know  what  they  will  be  up  to. 
Do  not  let  Captain  Cook  go  up  the  Orwell  again,  if  you  can  help 
it,  and  steer  clear  of  the  coast-guard." 

"AY>  ay,  master,  I'll  manage;"  and,  leaving  the  old  com- 
modore,   he  returned  to  the   cave,  and  reached  it  at  the  precise 


104  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

moment  when  the  hardy  fellows  were  drinking  "  Long  life  to  Jack 
Luff!" 

"  I'm  just  come  in  time,  boys,  to  make  you  all  return  thanks 
instead  of  me.  I  wish  you  all  long  life  and  good  luck.  I've  got 
you  all  near  three  weeks'  run  ashore.  So  here's  your  healths  ! 
But  I  say,  boys,  the  commodore  approves  our  young  captain,  and 
has  appointed  him  a  good  voyage  next  turn  ;  and  as  he  is  to  sail 
across  the  Atlantic,  he  wills  that  you  all  should  join  in  calling  him 
Captain  Cook." 

"With  all  our  hearts  !  With  all  our  hearts  !  "  exclaimed  several 
of  the  crew.  "But  what  were  you  saying  about  the  three  weeks' 
run  1  * 

"  Why,  that  you  must  all  be  here  by  the  12th  of  October.  In 
the  meantime,  if  you  want  to  see  me  or  the  captain,  you  will  find 
us  after  next  week  at  the  green-windowed  cottage  at  Butley.  Till 
then,  my  boys,  follow  your  own  fun.  Here's  your  pay,  and  a 
present  besides  for  each." 

A  noisy  shout  issued  through  that  dark  and  dreary  cavern.  They 
were  not  long  in  obeying  their  employer's  orders.  By  twos  and 
threes  they  despersed,  some  to  Boyton,  some  to  Butley,  some  to 
Shottisham,  Ramsholt,  Bawdsey,  Hollesley,  Felixstow,  one  or  two 
as  far  as  Trimley,  Nacton,  and  Ipswich. 

The  country  was  too  hot  for  some  of  them,  who,  being  suspected 
of  being  concerned  in  the  attack  made  upon  young  Barry,  were 
looked  after  in  order  to  be  prosecuted  for  attempt  at  murder.  All 
pains  had  been  taken  ;  rewards  offered,  their  persons  described  ; 
and  so  nearly  did  some  of  the  crew  resemble  the  description  of 
their  companions,  that  they  had  to  cut  their  cables,  and  run  for  the 
furthest  port  in  sifety.  John  Luff  and  the  captain  took  up  their 
quarters  again  by  Butley  Moor,  and  employed  themselves,  as  before, 
in  the  dangers,  and  to  them  familar  sports,  of  poaching. 

The  12th  of  October  came,  and  the  smugglers  returned  to  the 
place  of  meeting,  and  the  captain  and  his  mate  met  them  at  the 
cave.  Two  only  did  not  come  to  the  muster,  and  these  two  were 
always  suspected  of  being  rather  "  shy  cocks." 

"  I  say,  captain,"  said  one  of  the  men,  "  I  had  like  to  have 
suffered  for  you,  and  Tim  Lester  for  Jack  Luff.  Two  fellows  laid 
an  information  against  us,  and  swore  that  we  were  the  men  who 
attempted  to  murder  young  Barry.  The  hundred  pounds'  reward 
would  have  made  them  stick  to  it  as  close  as  a  nor'-wester  to  the 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  105 

skin.  We  cub  our  cables,  and  ran  off  and  escaped.  The  country 
around  is  hot  enough  after  you  both,  so  the  sooner  we  are  on  board 
the  better." 

Accordingly,  stores  were  soon  shipped,  anchors,  cables,  spars, 
and  rigging  carried  on  board,  orders  given,  and  "  far,  far  at  sea 
they  steered  their  course." 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   PARTING. 

Unaffected  was  the  joy  with  which  the  parents  and  family  of 
young  Barry  received  their  brave  son  into  their  peaceful  cot.  The 
good  miller  and  his  wife  welcomed  the  pale  and  dejected  youth 
with  that  quiet,  composed,  and  affectionate  interest  which  at  once 
soothes  and  comforts  a  sick  soul. 

The  young  man  had  more  upon  his  mind  than  he  chose  to  speak 
of.  and  a  heavy  weight  upon  his  spirits,  which  not  all  the  cheerful- 
ness of  his  brothers  and  sisters  and  parents  could  allay.  His 
wounds  gradually  healed ;  but  his  weakness  continued,  and  he 
appeared  to  be  suffering  some  internal  torture  which  prevented  his 
sleeping  at  night.  He  read,  and  tried  to  improve  his  mind  ;  but 
it  availed  nothing.  His  sisters,  too,  sought  every  opportunity  to 
afford  him  diversion  ;  but  the  languid  smile  and  forced  expression 
of  thankfulness  told,  that,  although  he  felt  grateful,  he  did  not 
relish  their  mirth.  He  looked  intently  into  the  newspaper,  espe- 
cially into  all  matters  connected  with  the  coast  and  coast-guard  ; 
and  when  he  read  of  any  skirmish  with  the  smugglers,  he  was 
feverishly  anxious  to  know  who  they  were.  He  also  expressed  a 
particular  wish  to  see  his  brother  Edward. 

Though  the  miller  could  not  say  exactly  when  Edward  might  be 
expected  home,  he  resolved  to  send  to  the  stations  where  he  might 
be  found,  and  urge  him  to  obtain  leave  of  absence. 

It  was  not  long  before  that  leave  was  given,  and  he  returned  to 
visit  his  parents  and  his  invalid  brother.  The  young  men  mutually 
rejoiced  to  see  each  other,  and  were  not  long  in  comparing  notes 
upon  their  separate  adventures. 

"  I  prophesy  I  shall  catch  him  one  of  these  days,"  said  Ned  ; 
u  and  if  I  do,  he  shall  never  remember  his  last  escape.     We  know 


106  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

him  well  when  we  see  him,  but  the  fellow  changes  his  name  as 
often  as  he  does  his  place,  so  that  our  information  is  frequently 
contradictory.  If  once  I  have  a  chance  of  changing  shots  with  him 
again,  Jack,  he  shall  pay  me  for  those  cowardly  wounds  in  your 
side." 

"Nay,  Ned,  I  had  rather  that  the  sea  swallowed  him  up,  than 
that  you  should  shoot  him." 

"  How  then  would  you  know  he  was  dead,  Jack?  His  ship 
might  be  lost,  and  the  wreck  driven  on  shore ;  but  we  should  not 
know  it,  and  he  might  or  might  not  escape.  There's  nothing  like 
a  bullet  for  certainty." 

"  But  you  would  know  him,  if  you  saw  his  body  cast  ashore  ? " 

"  Yes,  that  I  should  ;  and  I  would  soon  let  you  know  it,  too." 

"  Well,  if  I  must  hope  for  his  destruction,  I  would  rather  it  were 
in  this  way  than  by  your  hand/' 

"  For  your  sake,  Jack,  I  should  be  satisfied  with  it  so  ;  but,  for 
my  own  part,  I  have  no  compunction  in  shooting  a  desperado  like 
him,  who  lives  upon  the  vitals  of  others,  and  fights  against  his  king 
and  country,  and  sets  at  defiance  all  laws,  human  and  divine.  He 
would  kill  any  man  that  opposed  his  nefarious  traffic  ;  and,  as  I  am 
one  that  he  has  sworn  to  attack  by  land  or  by  sea,  whether  in  war 
or  peace,  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  not  defend  your  life  and 
my  own,  even  though  it  may  cost  the  taking  away  of  his." 

The  sufferer  did  not  argue  the  point  any  further  ;  and  especially 
as  there  were  reasons  of  a  private  nature  which  had  a  powerful  in- 
fluence upon  his  mind.  He  revived  very  much  during  his  brother's 
stay,  and  seemed  to  be  more  cheerful  than  at  any  former  period  of 
his  illness.  He  even  assisted  in  the  labours  of  the  mill,  and  by 
little  and  little  began  to  pick  up  strength.  His  brother's  leave  of 
absence,  however,  expired  ;  and  the  two  were  seen  to  walk  away 
together  over  the  hill,  arm-in-arm,  in  the  most  earnest  and  deep 
conversation. 

"Never  fear,  Jack  ;  I  will  keep  your  secret  honestly,  and  render 
you  all  the  help  in  my  power.    I  will  let  you  know  our  movements." 

' '  And  take  care  of  yourself,  Ned,  and  do  not  risk  your  life  for 
my  sake.     If  you  should  fall,  Avhat  should  I  feel  1 " 

"  I  hope  you  would  feel  that  I  fell  in  a  good  cause,  brother. 
At  least,  I  do  feel  it  so  myself,  or  I  should  not  be  a  happy  man. 
No  man  can  be  happy,  John,  who  even  thinks  that  he  is  doing 
wrong. " 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  1 07 

"  God  preserve  you,  dear  brother !     Farewell  !  " 

The  two  brothers  parted,  one  to  his  duties  at  Dunwich,  where 
his  station  then  was,  the  other  to  his  home  and  thoughts. 

Anticipation  is  the  greatest  quickcner  of  mortal  spirits.  There 
is  something  so  lively  in  the  expectation  of  things  upon  which  the 
heart  is  fixed,  that  even  time  passes  quickly  by  during  the  period 
in  which  hope  is  so  vivid.  But  there  is  a  point  at  which  the  tide, 
turns,  and  as  gradually  operates  in  a  reverse  manner,  when  the 
heart  sickens,  desponds,  and  grows  gloomy. 

Young  Barry  returned  from  his  parting  walk  with  his  brother  in 
high  spirits,  elated  with  hope,  and  better  both  in  mind  and  body. 
He  assisted  his  father  in  his  work,  and  was  at  times  playful  with 
his  sisters.  So  much  did  his  health  improve  at  this  time,  that  his 
parents  began  to  hope  that  the  ensuing  spring  would  see  him 
perfectly  restored. 

And  where,  all  this  time,  was  she,  the  unfortunate  cause  of  all 
his  misery,  and  the  most  unintentional  marplot  in  this  history  ? 
She  was  as  great  a  sufferer  as  he  could  possibly  be.  Nothing  could 
equal  her  distress  of  mind  at  the  turn  affairs  had  taken.  A  bodily 
affliction  might  have  proved  a  comfort  to  her.  She  felt,  after  all 
that  had  taken  place,  that  the  indulgence  of  her  kind  master  and 
mistress  should  be  rewarded  with  more  than  usual  exertions  on  her 
part.  She  had  stirring  employment  for  her  hands,  as  well  as  much 
exertion  for  her  mind. 

It  would  have  been  a  pleasant  thing  for  her  could  she  have  been 
absent  when  the  sharp  gibes  of  her  fellow-servants  would  torment 
her  with  insinuations.  There  is  dreadful  cruelty  in  that  man's 
heart  who  delights  to  torment  a  creature  which  cannot  defend 
itself.  Poor  Margaret  felt  that  she  had  no  defence  to  set  up,  and 
no  friend  to  defend  her.  To  hear  the  hopes  expressed  that  Laud 
might  be  soon  taken,  and  the  reward  talked  of  for  his  apprehension, 
and  the  wishes  expressed  by  some  that  they  might  have  the  oppor- 
tunity of  handling  the  cash  :  these  things,  coming  from  those  whom 
she  met  every  day,  made  her  present  position  very  uncomfortable. 

More  than  once,  one  would  announce  at  dinner-time  that  the 
smuggler  had  been  seen  on  shore  and  captured.  Again,  it  was 
stated  that  he  was  taken  in  an  open  boat  at  sea.  And  if  a  sailor 
chanced  to  call  at  the  house,  Margaret's  heart  was  in  a  flutter  lest 
he  should  be  seen  by  some  of  the  men,  and  she  should  be  ridiculed. 
These  things  kept   the  poor  girl's  heart    in   a    constant  state  of 


108  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

apprehension,  and  evidently  affected  her  health  ;  whilst  the  ac- 
counts brought  to  the  farm,  from  time  to  time,  of  young  Barry's 
protracted  sufferings,  were  anything  but  satisfactory  to  her.  Her 
master  and  mistress  were  uniformly  kind  to  her,  or  she  could  not 
have  borne  her  sufferings.  As  it  was,  she  found  herself  so  uncom- 
fortable, that  she  resolved  to  give  her  mistress  warning,  and  to 
leave  her  as  soon  as  she  could  suit  herself  with  another  servant. 
She  be<T^ed  her  mistress  not  to  think  that  she  was  dissatisfied  with 
her  or  with  her  work  :  she  told  her  plainly  that  she  suffered  so 
much  from  the  taunts,  and  even  the  looks,  of  the  men  upon  the 
farm,  that  she  could  not  live  there,  and  she  was  resolved  to  go 
home  to  her  parents. 

About  the  latter  end  of  the  ensuing  November,  Margaret  returned 
to  her  parents  ;  and  if  she  did  not  live  quite  so  well  as  she  had 
done,  she  lived,  at  all  events,  in  peace. 

It  was  at  this  moment  of  her  utmost  poverty  that  Margaret's 
love  and  fortitude  were  put  to  the  severest  trial.  In  the  depth  of 
the  winter,  she  received  an  unexpected  visit  from  young  Barry, 
who,  claiming  as  he  did  a  more  than  common  interest  in  her  fate, 
and  a  more  than  passing  share  of  her  acquaintance,  well  knew  that 
he  should  not  be  denied  admission  into  her  father's  cottage.  He 
entered,  looking  extremely  pale  and  thin  ;  but  Margaret  was  glad 
to  see  him  ;  and  more  especially  as  he  declared  that  he  had  walked 
all  the  way  from  Levington.  She  dusted  a  seat  for  him  ;  and 
placed  it  by  the  crackling  fagot-fire,  requesting  him  to  rest  himself 
after  his  walk.  It  was  about  half-past  two  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon ;  her  father  was  cutting  fagots  on  the  heath  ;  her  mother, 
who  had  been  unwell,  had  gone  upstairs  to  lie  down  ;  her  youngcct 
brother  was  attending  the  sheep  ;  and  she  was  alone  at  the  time 
young  Barry  entered.  He  seated  himself,  and  answered  her  kind 
inquiries  after  his  health,  and  received  her  grateful  expressions  of 
thankfulness  for  his  kindness  to  her  upon  former  occasions,  and 
especially  upon  that  day  when  he  had  received  his  wound. 

Barry  heard  this  with  that  true  modesty  which  a  good  man 
always  feels.  He  said  it  was  only  his  duty;  he  regretted  the 
conduct  of  his  former  friends  and  fellow-labourers,  which  had 
driven  Margaret  from  her  place,  and  he  asked  her  if  she  intended 
to  go  to  service  again.  She  replied,  "  Not  in  this  part  of  the 
country.  I  hope  soon  to  go  and  stay  with  my  Uncle  Leader 
at  Brand iston,  who,  though  he  has  a  large  family  of  his   own, 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  IOQ 

has    yet  kindly   consented   to    take    me   in,   if  I   should   want   a 
home." 

"  Margaret,"  said  the  young  man,  fixing  his  eye3  upon  her 
intently,  "  are  you  in  want  of  a  home,  and  are  there  any  circum- 
stances in  the  world  that  will  ever  induce  you  to  share  mine  with 
me  ?  I  am  come  over  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  ask  you  this 
question.     Give  me  a  hopeful  answer." 

It  is  impossible  for  any  woman,  with  a  woman's  heart,  not 
to  feel  grateful  to  an  honourable  man,  who,  regarding  not  the 
poverty  and  reverse  of  circumstances  which  she  may  have  experi- 
enced, renews  those  earnest  vows  which  once,  in  happier  days, 
he  had  before  offered.  Margaret  felt  young  Barry's  kindness,  and 
owned  it  with  the  deepest  thankfulness,  if  not  in  words  of 
eloquence,  yet  in  words  of  such  simplicity  and  earnestness,  a3 
spoke  the  noble  resolution  of  a  good  and  honest,  though,  alas, 
mistaken  mind  ! 

"  I  do  not  say,  John,  that  there  are  no  circumstances  under  which 
I  might  not  be  induced  to  accept  your  kindness,  and  for  which 
I  might  not  endeavour  to  render  you  the  service  and  obedience 
of  my  whole  life  ;  but  there  is  one  circumstance  which  would 
utterly  preclude  my  acceptance  of  your  offer ;  yet  forgive  mo  if  I 
say,  I  hope  that  one  circumstance  will  for  ever  exist." 
"  What  is  that  one,  Margaret?     Name  it." 

"Nay,  John,  you  know  it  well.  I  have  told  you  before,  that 
as  long  as  I  know  that  Will  Laud  is  living,  or  at  least  until  I  know 
that  he  is  dead,  I  will  never  marry  any  other  man." 

"But  you  must  know,  Margaret,  the  dangerous  life  he  leads, 
and  the  precarious  tenure  by  which  that  life  is  held,  subject  as 
it  is  to  all  the  perils  of  the  sea." 

"Alas  !  I  know  it  well;  but  there  is  a  God  who  governs  and 
directs  all  things  for  good,  and  I  hope  still  that  the  day  of  grace 
and  penitence  may  arrive,  in  which,  though  fickle  as  he  now  is,  he 
may  be  altered  and  improved.  Nothing  is  impossible ;  and  as 
long  as  life  lasts,  so  long  will  I  have  hope." 

"  But  your  hopes,  Margaret,  may  be  blighted— it  may  be  that 
the  sea  itself  may  devour  him." 

"  It  may  be  so.  It  will  require  something  more  than  the  bare 
report  of  such  a  calamity  to  convince  me  of  the  fact,  even  though 
years  should  bring  no  tidings  of  him." 

"But    if    you   should    have   the    truth    asserted   by  one   who 


IIO  THE    HISTORY    OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

should  chance  to  see  him  perish,  would  that  be  sufficient 
proof  1 " 

"  No,  sir,  no  !  Except  I  know  from  my  own  sight,  or  from  the 
most  positive  evidence  of  more  than  one,  I  could  not  trust  to  it.'* 

"But  if  you  were  at  last  convinced  of  his  death,  might  I  then 
hope  ? " 

"It  will  be  time  to  speak  to  me  of  that  if  God  should  grant  me 
life  beyond  that  dreadful  time ;  but,  now  that  I  think  of  your  kind- 
heartedness,  and  know  how  unwilling  you  are  to  give  unnecessary 
pain,  I  begin  to  fear  that  you  have  some  melancholy  tidings  to 
communicate.  Speak,  John,  speak  ! — your  manner  is  unusual,  and 
your  conversation  is  too  ominous.  Have  you  heard  anything  of 
Laud  ?     Pray  speak,  and  tell  me  at  once." 

This  was  more  than  the  youth  could  at  once  perform.  He 
had  been  so  carried  away  by  his  own  passion,  that  he  had  not 
foreseen  the  effect  which  his  unwelcome  tidings  might  occasion. 
He  now  heartily  wished  that  he  had  left  it  for  others  to  communi- 
cate. He  hesitated,  looked  painfully  distressed,  and  was  discon- 
certed at  his  own  precipitancy. 

"I  know,  John,  by  your  manner,  that  you  have  something  to 
tell  me,  though  you  seem  afraid  to  utter  it.  Tell  me  the  worst, 
tell  me  the  worst  !  " 

"  Margaret,  I  own  that  I  have  been  too  abrupt.  My  own  hopes 
have  made  me  overlook  the  shock  I  know  you  will  experience  ; 
but  I  had  really  no  intention  of  giving  you  pain.  The  worst  is, 
that  which  I  have  often  thought  would  come  to  pass — Will  Laud 
is  dead  !  " 

' '  How  do  you  know  that  ? ' 

"  I  saw  him  myself  this  very  morning." 

"Where?  where?" 

"  At  Bawdsey  Ferry." 

"  How  knew  you  it  was  Laud  ? " 

"  My  brother  saw  his  boat  coming  ashore  in  the  gale  last  night, 
saw  it  driven  upon  the  rocks  inside  the  bar,  and  smashed  to  pieces. 
Laud,  with  three  others,  was  cast  on  the  shore  quite  dead.  My 
brother  sent  me  word  with  the  morning's  light.  I  would  not  even 
trust  to  his  report,  so  I  went  to  Bawdsey  and  saw  Mm.  I  then 
hastened  to  be  the  fir3t  to  convey  the  intelligence  to  you.  Forgive 
me,  Margaret,  that  my  selfish  thoughts  should  made  me  forget  your 
feelings." 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  HI 

c<  I  can  forgive  you  ;  but  I  never  should  forgive  myself  if  I  did 
not  go  directly  and  judge  from  my  own  sight  if  it  be  really  so. 
[  have  long  made  up  my  mind  to  hear  unpleasant  tidings  ;  but 
I  have  never  been  without  hope  that  something  would  alter  him." 

"  I  fear  that  he  was  too  desperate  ever  to  reform." 

"  I  did  not  think  he  could  reform  himself.  I  lived  in  hopes  that 
some  severe  blow  might  bring  him  to  his  senses  ;  but  I  must  go 
and  see.  In  the  meantime  let  me  request  you  not  to  mention  those 
matters  to  me  again  ;  at  least,  let  me  have  time  to  think  of  the 
past,  and  consider  of  the  future." 

"  You  will  pardon  me,  Margaret,  and  attribute  to  my  regard  for 
you  the  precipitate  step  I  have  taken  upon  this  occasion." 

"  "Where  lies  the  body  of  poor  Laud?"  said  Margaret,  without 
seeming  to  hear  what  Barry  last  said. 

"  It  is  in  the  boat-house  at  Bawdsey  Ferry,  together  with  the 
three  others." 

"  I  will  go  there  to-day."  And  she  immediately  prepared  to  fulfil 
her  resolution. 

' '  How  will  you  go  ?  "Will  you  let  me  drive  you  there  ?  I  can 
obtain  a  horse  and  cart ;  and  I  think  you  know  me  well  enough  to 
be  persuaded  of  my  care." 

"I  do  not  doubt  it,  sir,  but  I  had  rather  not  go  with  you.  I 
have  no  objection  to  be  your  debtor  for  the  horse  and  cart,  but  my 
youngest  brother  will  drive  me." 

"  It  shall  be  here  in  half  an  hour.  May  I  offer  you  any  other 
aid  ? " 

"  None,  sir,  whatever.  You  have  my  thanks  ;  and  I  so  far 
consider  your  honesty  and  truth  deserves  my  esteem,  that,  by  to- 
morrow at  this  time,  if  you  will  pay  us  another  visit,  I  shall  be 
glad  to  see  you." 

"It  is  all  that  I  could  wish  or  hope.  Till  then,  Margaret,  good- 
bye." 

Young  Barry  left  with  a  heart  somewhat  easier,  though  touched 
with  pain  for  the  poor  girl.  He  had,  however,  seen  the  only  being 
who  stood  between  him  and  his  affections  laid  a  helpless  corpse 
upon  the  boat.  Hope  took  the  place  of  despair — he  soon  obtained 
the  horse  and  cart,  and  sent  them  to  their  destination. 

Barry's  anxiety  was  greatly  increased  as  day  wore  away,  and  a 
night  of  feverish  suspense  succeeded.  Sleep  was  quite  out  of  the 
question — every  hour  he  heard  the  clock  strike  in  the  room  beneath 


112  THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

him.  He  saw  the  grey  dawn  approach,  and  beheld  the  gradually 
increasing  light  clearer  and  clearer  shining,  and  throughout  the 
whole  livelong  night  he  dwelt  but  upon  one  theme — that  theme  was 
Margaret ! 

He  rose  next  morning,  looking,  as  his  friends  declared,  like  a 
ghost.  He  ate  no  breakfast — he  could  not  talk — he  could  not 
work  ;  but  could  only  walk  about,  lost  in  abstracted  meditation. 
The  dinner-hour  came  with  nocn,  but  he  could  eat  nothing — 
he  had  neither  appetite,  speech,  nor  animation.  No  efforts  of  his 
parents  could  call  forth  any  of  his  energies — they  knew  he  had 
been  to  see  his  brother  ;  but  they  could  not  get  him  to  declare  the 
purport  of  his  visit.  He  said  that  his  brother  was  well  ;  that 
nothing  had  happened  to  him  ;  that  he  had  seen  him  quite  well ; 
and  that  he  was  promoted  a  step  in  the  service ;  and  that  he  was 
constantly  employed.  It  was  evident  to  them  that  something  was 
preying  upon  the  young  man's  mind  which  he  would  not  disclose. 
They  did  not,  however,  distress  him  with  questions  ;  and  after 
dinner,  he  departed  from  the  house,  and  was  observed  to  walk 
toward  Nacton. 

He  found  Margaret  returned,  and  seated  by  the  fireside,  as  she 
was  the  day  before  when  he  visited  her.  She  looked  very  pale 
and  thoughtful.  The  young  man  took  this  as  a  necessary  conse- 
quence of  the  shock  she  had  received  at  the  sight  of  her  lover's 
corpse,  little  dreaming  that  at  that  very  moment  she  was  actually 
feeling  for  the  distress  of  him  who  then  stood  before  her. 

"Well,  Margaret,  I  am  come,  according  to  your  appoint- 
ment." 

"  I  am  very  grateful  to  you  for  your  assistance.  I  should  never 
have  forgiven  myself  had  1  not  gone.  1  saw  your  brother,  sir,  and 
he  was  very  kind  to  me.  Through  his  permission  I  obtained  a 
sight  of  the  bodies  in  the  boai-house,  and  he  told  me  concerning 
the  melancholy  wreck  of  the  schooner ;  but — but  both  you  and 
your  brother,  sir,  are  mistaken." 

The  heart  of  the  youth  was  so  stricken,  he  could  not  for  a  time 
utter  one  single  word — he  sat  all  astonishment,  all  dismay,  all 
agony,  all  despair.  There  was  no  joyful  congratulation  for  Mar- 
garet, there  was  no  apology  for  his  mistake — feelings  too  deep  for 
utterance  overpowered  him. 

Margaret  saw  and  felt,  in  the  midst  of  her  own  hope,  the  painful 
disappointment  of  his,  nor  could  she  summon  courage  to  utter 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  113 

more.     After  the  most  afflicting  silence,  John  Barry,  as  if  lie  couU 
not  doubt  his  own  and  his  brother's  eyes,  said  — 

"  Are  you  sure  I  was  mistaken  1 " 

"  Quite,"  said  Margaret  ;  "  quite." 

"  And  my  brother,  how  could  he  be  so  deceived  ?  he  knew  Laud 
so  well." 

"  Few  knew  him  better,  but  I  convinced  him  that  he  was  mis- 
taken. I  asked  him  where  the  -wound  was  upon  the  forehead, 
which  he  had  given  him,  and  which  I  had  such  difficulty  in  heal- 
ing. It  certainly  was  very  like  Laud,  and,  had  I  not  well  con- 
sidered him,  I  also  might  have  been  deceived  ;  but  I  am  glad  I 
went.  Your  brother  is  quite  satisfied  upon  the  point,  but  very 
much  hurt  to  think  of  the  grief  he  has  occasioned  you.  He  felt 
very  sorry,  also,  for  the  pain  which  he  kindly  imagined  I  must 
have  felt,  which,  however,  was  greatly  relieved  by  the  joy  I  ex- 
perienced in  proving  to  his  satisfaction  that  he  was  mistaken.  He 
declared  that,  for  my  ^ake,  he  would  never  injure  Will  Laud  if  he 
could  help  it.  Oh,  how  I  wTish  that  Will  could  have  heard  that 
declaration  !  I  am  persuaded  they  would  have  been  good  friends 
from  that  time.  I  think  you  will  find  your  brother  at  Levington 
upon  your  return,  for  I  know  he  asked  permission  of  Lieutenant 
"Brand  to  let  him  visit  his  father  for  a  day  upon  very  urgent  business. 
I  suspect  this  is  but  to  see  you,  and  explain  to  you  his  mistake." 

"Margaret,  I  ought  to  have  felt  more  for  you  than  for  myself. 
I  wish  you  well — I  scarcely  now  can  hope.  I  am  indeed  wretched, 
but  it  is  my  duty  to  strive  against  these  feelings — I  know  it  is. 
But  here  in  this  country  I  cannot  remain — I  must  go  abroad.  I 
must  see  if  I  can  get  a  grant  of  land  in  Canada — I  cannot  live 
here  ;  but  I  shall  never  forget  you,  Margaret,  never  ! — and  may 
I  hope  that  you  will  sometimes  think  of  me '? " 

"I  can  never  forget  jou  ;  and,  depend  upon  it,  wherever  you 
may  be,  I  shall  never  cease  to  be  grateful  for  your  past  kindness 
to  a  poor  unfortunate  girl  like  myself.  God  will  prosper  you,  sir  — 
I  am  sure  lie  will.  I  am  far  too  unworthy  your  notice.  At  all 
times  I  will  pray  for  your  happiness." 

(l  I  know  not  wiiere  I  shall  go,  Margaret.  I  will  see  3011  but 
once  more  before  I  go  ;  but  now,  good-bye." 

They  shook  hands  and  parted — each  felt  a  sincere  wish  for  the 
other's  welfare.  One  felt  that  the  hopes  of  his  life  were  blighted ; 
the  other,  that  her  vows  of  attachment  were  unalterable. 


114  THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

Young  Barry  returned  home,  and  found,  as  Margaret  had  sup- 
posed, his  brother  Edward,  who  had  been  there  some  time  before 
his  return.  It  needed  but  a  look  to  tell  what  each  felt.  They  took 
a  turn  round  the  fields,  and  were  seen  arm-in-arm  together.  They 
were  mutually  satisfied  with  each  other. 

Edward  Barry  saw  and  admired  his  brother's  choice,  for  until 
then  he  had  never  been  prepossessed  in  her  favour.  The  warmth 
of  feeling  which  she  betrayed  when  looking  at  the  countenance 
of  her  supposed  lover,  as  he  lay  in  the  boat-house,  and  the  pure 
and  simple  joy  at  discovering  the  mistake  ;  the  very  sensible 
manner  in  which  she  proved  that  she  could  not  be  mistaken  ;  the 
gratitude  she  felt,  and  the  exemplary  manner  in  which  she  con- 
ducted herself,  all  conspired  to  give  him  a  high  opinion  of  the 
character  of  this  young  woman,  and  made  him  feel  that,  notwith- 
standing the  strong  wish  he  had  entertained  for  Laud's  death,  for 
he  had  even  counted  upon  being  opposed  in  deadly  skirmish  with 
him,  he  never  could  take  his  life  without  giving  a  deep  wound  to 
one  innocent  and  deserving  heart. 

Young  Barry  became  another  being — his  health  improved  rapidly  ; 
he  began  to  work,  and  to  talk  of  future  days  with  cheerfulness. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE    LAST   INTERVIEW. 


About  this  time  a  new  settlement  was  projected  at  New  South 
Wales,  and  Government  had  already  sent  several  convict  ships  to 
Botany  Bay  and  Port  Jackson  ;  but  the  unruly  state  of  the  people, 
and  the  necessary  military  government  of  the  colony,  made  it 
very  desirable  that  some  respectable  settlers  should  be  induced  to 
go  out.  Accordingly,  whenever  storeships  were  sent,  a  premium 
was  offered  for  farmers'  sons  or  farming  men  to  emigrate.  One 
hundred  acres  of  land  for  as  many  dollars  were  granted  :  still  very 
few  could  be  induced  to  go.  It  was  not  for  some  years  that  any 
regular  settlers'  ship  went  out  with  free  passengers. 

Young  Barry  conversed  with  his  father  upon  this  subject,  and 
found  him  quite  disposed  to  let  him  have  double  the  above-named 
sum,  and  even  encouraged  the  idea  in  the  youth's  mind. 


THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  115 

It  so  happened  that  Captain  Johnson,  who  commanded  one  of 
the  earliest  storeships  which  was  sent  to  that  colony,  was  acquainted 
with  Lieutenant  Brand,  and  had  written  to  ask  him  if  there  was 
any  young  farmer  who  would  like  to  go  out  with  him  from  Suffolk. 
It  was  through  him  that  young  Barry  got  an  introduction  to  Captain 
Johnson,  who  promised  him  a  good  berth,  and  every  convenient 
accommodation.  It  was  soon  resolved  that  John  Barry  should 
forthwith  get  a  grant  of  land  ;  and,  being  furnished  with  all  re- 
quisite particulars,  he  went  to  London  to  see  his  ship,  and  make 
arrangements  with  his  captain. 

All  his  family  now  felt  a  double  interest  in  him  because  he  was 
going  away,  to  leave  them,  perhaps,  for  ever — at  all  events  for  a 
very  long  period.  His  sisters  worked  hard  to  make  him  such 
changes  of  linen  as  should  last  him  for  years  ;  and  every  hand  they 
could  muster  in  the  village,  capable  of  doing  needlework,  was  fully 
employed.  Presents  of  various  kinds  flowed  in;  and,  upon  his 
return  home  from  town,  he  found  himself  master  of  more  stock 
than  he  could  possibly  have  got  together  for  his  own  use  in 
England,  though  he  had  laboured  for  it  for  many  years.  He  was 
very  cheerful,  and  even  told  his  sisters  that,  as  he  might,  perhaps, 
marry  soon  in  the  new  settlement,  they  might  make  him  some  sets 
of  female  apparel !  They  laughed  with  astonishment  at  this  re- 
quest ;  but,  as  they  found  him  earnest,  they  each  spared  something 
from  their  own  wardrobe  for  this  most  eccentric  request.  Little, 
however,  did  they  surmise  the  real  motive  of  his  heart. 

The  day  was  fixed  for  the  vessel  to  sail,  and  John  must  be,  with 
all  his  goods  and  chattels,  at  London  in  a  fortnight.  The  last 
Sabbath-day  that  he  spent  with  his  father,  mother,  brothers,  and 
sisters,  was  memorable  for  the  deep-rooted  power  it  ever  after 
retained  over  his  mind.  The  clergyman's  sermon  was  upon  the 
universal  providence  of  God,  and,  as  if  he  preached  it  on  purpose 
(but  which  was  not  the  case,  for  he  was  ignorant  of  the  intended 
movement  of  the  young  man),  he  discoursed  upon  the  unity  of 
the  Church  of  Christ  in  every  place — the  communion  we  had  even 
with  our  antipodes  in  the  worship  of  the  same  God.  He  instanced 
the  especial  interest  which  the  Church  had  with  all  the  colonies  of 
the  mother  country,  and  spoke  of  the  joy  to  be  felt  when  that 
reunion  should  take  place  at  the  resurrection  of  the  just.  The 
preacher  spoke  as  if  even  the  poor  benighted  aborigines  of  A  an 
Diemen's  Land  were  his  brethren,  and  showed  how  necessary  it 

8 


ll6  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

was  for  us  to  extend  to  them  our  helping  hand  to  bring  them  to 
Christianity, 

After  service,  the  worthy  miller  told  his  pastor  that  his  son  was 
going  to  that  very  country,  and  that  the  young  man  had  said  he 
never  should  forget  that  discourse.  The  clergyman  went  home 
with  the  family,  and  spent  that  Sabbath  evening  with  them.  He 
fully  entered  into  the  prospect  before  the  young  man,  and  pointed 
out  to  him  the  sure  path  to  heaven,  through  the  strait  gate,  and 
inspired  him  with  many  hopes  of  doing  good.  He  joined  with 
them  in  prayer,  and  gave  them  his  blessing.  He  promised  to  send 
him  a  valuable  present  of  books,  which  he  performed  the  next  day. 
Bibles,  Testaments,  prayer-books,  homilies,  tracts,  "  The  Whole 
Duty  of  Man,"  together  with  a  work  on  planting,  farming,  horti- 
culture, and  seeds,  and  one  on  natural  history  and  botany,  all 
which  proved  of  the  greatest  utility  to  the  worthy  and  honourable 
young  man  upon  whom  they  were  bestowed. 

The  day  of  parting  at  length  came— the  last  sad  day — and  the 
young  man  remembered  his  promise  to  Margaret,  that  he  would 
see  her  once  more  before  he  departed.  He  found  her  at  home  on 
the  Monday,  that  very  day  upon  the  eve  of  which  he  was  to  take 
the  mail  from  Ipswich  for  London.  He  came  to  take  a  long  and  a 
last  farewell.  And  why  did  he  torment  himself  and  the  poor  girl 
with  this  last  interview  ?  Was  it  with  a  lurking  hope  that  he 
might  persuade  her  to  accompany  him  ?  He  had  really  and  truly 
prepared  for  such  an  event,  could  he  have  brought  it  about.  In 
his  chests  were  presents  which  his  sisters  had  made  at  his  request, 
in  case  he  should  marry  in  the  new  settlement.  He  had  suggested 
this  ;  but  his  heart  had  to  the  very  last  a  lingering  thought  that 
perhaps  Margaret  might  be  induced  to  embark  with  him.  Upon 
what  small  last  links  will  not  true  love  depend  ! 

"  I  am  come,  Margaret,  to  take  my  leave  of  you,"  said  he,  on 
meeting  her.  "  I  am  going  to  a  colony  the  farthest  off  our  own 
dear  country  of  any  known  island  in  the  world ." 

"  Indeed,  sir  !  if  so  I  wish  you  well,  aud  pray  God  to  bless 
you!" 

"  Before  I  go,  Margaret,"  resumed  he,  li  I  must  tell  you  that  as 
long  as  life  holds  in  this  poor  heart  of  mine,  I  shall  never  love 
any  one  else.  I  may  prosper — I  may  be  rich — I  may  be  blessed 
with  abundance — but  I  shall  never  be  blessed  with  a  wife." 

"  Oh,  sir,  say  not  so  !  you  grieve  me  very  much  to  hear  you  talk 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  117 

in  that  way.  You  are  a  young  man,  and  the  path  of  life,  though  it 
may  not  be  without  thorns,  has  yet  many  blessed  plants  for  your 
happiness.  "Why  should  you  speak  so  despondingly  ?  Change  of 
place  and  occupation  will  make  you  feel  very  differently." 

11  You  may  think  it  may  be  so  with  me,  Margaret ;  but  if  there 
be  any  truth  in  this  last  doctrine  which  you  have  yourself  divulged. 
it  will  hold  good  in  yourself  as  well  as  in  me.  If  you  change  your 
place  of  abode,  and  go  with  me,  Margaret,  will  not  you  think  very 
differently  to  what  you  now  do  ?  Oh,  that  I  could  persuade  you  ! 
Oh,  that  I  could  induce  you  to  join  your  lot  with  mine  !  Shake  off 
that  wild  attachment  to  the  smuggler,  and  go  with  me.  I  will 
marry  you  to-morrow  morning  before  we  sail.  I  have  even  hinted 
the  matter  to  my  captain.  He  has  promised  to  be  bridesman,  and 
has  even  taken  out  the  license,  and  will  be  ready  to-morrow  at  ten 
o'clock.  Xo  preparation  will  be  necessary  for  you.  I  have  prepared 
everything.  Your  bridal  dress  is  even  ready  ;  and  our  honeymoon 
will  be  kept  on  board  the  Kitty,  which  is  to  sail  to-morrow  from 
London.  Margaret,  hear  me  !  I  am  sure  that  your  present  con- 
nection will  end  in  ruin.  What  is  Will  Laud  but  a  desperate  fellow 
who  cannot,  and,  believe  me,  will  not  protect  you  ?  What  sacrifice 
can  it  be  to  leave  a  man  who  would  have  taken  you  away  without 
your  consent,  for  one  who,  writh  your  consent,  will  unite  all  his 
interests  with  yours  as  long  as  he  lives  ?  " 

There  was  a  pause — an  awful  pause — after  this  declaration,  such 
as  beings  feel  who  are  held  in  the  most  agitating  suspense,  between 
life  and  death.  Painful — very  painful — was  the  situation  in  which 
Margaret  was  placed.  There  was  a  flood  of  overwhelming  agitation. 
The  tears  stole  down  her  cheeks.  Her  dark  eye  shone  like  the  sun 
through  the  midst  of  a  watery  cloud,  and  told  that  it  longed  to 
burst  through  the  mists  of  darkness,  but  could  not  find  an  opening 
for  its  beams.  Faster  and  faster  fell  the  big  drops — heavier  and 
heavier  dropped  the  clouds  of  the  eye-lids,  till,  like  a  flash  of 
lightning,  burst  the  words  from  her  lips — 

"  Oh,  leave  me  !  leave  me,  sir  !  I  never  can  alter  the  pledge  I 
have  given  !  I  never  can  be  unfaithful  !  Though  I  may  be  un- 
happy in  my  choice,  yet  it  is  a  choice  to  which  I  feel  so  bound, 
that  nothing  but  death  can  part  us.  Oh,  that  Laud  were  as  good 
as  yourself  !  I  feel,  I  own  the  contrast  ;  but  I  hope  he  may  be 
better.  Oh,  do  not  urge  me,  sir — do  not  urge  me  to  d-scrt  the  only 
phance  left  for  the  restoration  of  a  young  man  to  honesty  and  life  !  " 


Il8  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

"  Margaret,  hear  then  my  last  words,  and  if  they  fail  I  will  leave 
you.  I  do  not  believe  that  Laud  loves  you  as  he  ought  to  love. 
Did  I  think  there  was  one  chance  for  your  happiness  with  him,  I 
would  not  urge  my  present  suit  a  moment  longer.  Believe  me,  he 
is  not  worthy  of  you.  You  compel  me  to  say  he  is  a  villain.  He 
will  betray  you.  He  will  desert  you.  He  will  bring  you  to  want, 
misery,  and  ruin.  I  know  you  love  him.  Your  early  feelings  have 
all  been  engaged  in  his  favour  ;  but  which  of  those  has  he  not 
disappointed  ?  which  of  those  feelings  has  he  not  wounded  ?  Yet 
you  cling  to  him,  as  if  he  were  a  safeground  of  anchorage.  Believe 
me-jbclieve  me,  Margaret,  the  anchor  you  cast  there  will  not  hold  ; 
it  will  suffer  you  to  drift  upon  the  rocks,  upon  which  you  will 
perish.  Say,  in  one  word,  will  you,  or  will  you  not,  consent  to  my 
offer  ?  " 

"John  Barry,  on  my  knees"  (and  she  suited  the  action  to  the 
word)  "I  thank  you,  and  bless  you;  but  I  do  not — I  cannot  — 
accept  your  offer  ! " 

"  Margaret,  farewell !  "  exclaimed  he,  as  he  raised  her  from  the 
ground,  "  a  long,  a  last  farewell.  Nevertheless,  take  this  ;  it  is  a 
gift,  which  may  some  future  day  be  of  service  to  you.  You  will 
not  refuse  it,  as  it  is  the  last  gift  of  one  who  will  never  see  you 
again.  I  know  you  cannot  even  read  it  now  ;  but  the  time  may 
come  when  you  may  be  enabled  so  to  do,  and  I  had  counted  in  my 
long  voyage  of  teaching  you  so  to  do.  It  was  a  present  to  me  from 
my  mother  ;  but  I  have  many  more  like  it,  given  me  by  our 
clergyman.  Take  it— take  it— it  can  never  do  you  hurt ;  and,  with 
God's  blessing,  it  may  be  the  means  of  our  meeting  in  another 
world,  though  we  never  meet  again  in  this.  God  bless  you,  Mar- 
garet !  farewell ! " 

He  placed  a  small  clasped  Bible  in  her  hands,  in  the  opening 
and  the  closing  leaf  of  which  were  two  five-pound  notes  ;  small 
sums  perhaps  apparently  to  us  in  this  day,  but  magnificent  com- 
pared with  the  means  of  an  early  settler  in  a  strange  land.  This 
ten  pounds  paid  poor  Margaret's  rent,  and  all  her  parent's  debts, 
at  a  subsequent  time,  when  the  deepest  distress  might  have  over- 
whelmed her.  But  Barry  returned  to  his  parents  with  a  noble 
consciousness  of  an  upright  mind.  His  parting  with  them  was 
not,  comparatively  speaking,  of  so  passionate  or  stirring  a  nature 
as  that  which  he  had  so  recently  undergone,  but  it  was  as  purely 
affectionate  and  loving. 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  119 

The  hour  of  parting  is  over  ;  and  John  Barry,  as  honest  and 
worthy  a  young  man  as  ever  left  the  shores  of  Old  England,  was 
soon  on  board  the  Kitty,  440  tons  ;  and  with  some  few  others,  who 
like  himself  had  a  mind  to  try  their  fortunes  in  a  foreign  land,  he 
sailed  for  that  colony,  once  the  most  distant  and  unpromising,  now 
becoming  renowned,  and  which  probably  will  be  the  most  glorious 
island  of  the  Eastern  world. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   WELCOME   VISIT. 


There  is  no  greater  misery  upon  earth  than  to  be  left  alone  ;  to 
feel  that  nobody  cares  for  you — nobody  is  interested  in  you  ;  and 
that  you  are  destitute  as  well  as  desolate  !  Poor  Margaret  at 
this  time  felt  something  akin  to  this  sensation.  She  had  a  regard 
for  the  youth  who  had  driven  himself  into  voluntary  exile  on  her 
account.  She  was  not,  however,  to  blame  for  this,  though  many 
a  one  accused  her  of  being  the  cause  of  it.  She  was  shunned  by 
those  of  her  own  sex,  on  account  of  the  disreputable  character 
of  her  lover,  with  whom  it  was  believed  that  she  still  held  secret 
correspondence,  although  for  a  long  time  she  had  heard  nothing 
of  him.  The  men  cared  little  about  her,  because  she  cared  nothing 
about  them  ;  but  kept  herself  quietly  at  home,  attending  to  the 
sick-bed  of  a  rapidly  declining  mother.  Occasionally  she  ventured 
to  the  Priory  Farm,  to  ask  for  some  few  necessaries  required  by 
her  aged  parent.  Her  former  mistress  was  uniformly  kind  to  her ; 
and  not  contented  with  affording  the  assistance  which  was  asked 
for,  this  good  woman  visited  the  sick-bed  of  poverty,  and  minis- 
tered to  the  wants  of  the  aged  and  infirm. 

Gratitude  is  very  eloquent,  if  not  in  the  multitude  of  words, 
yet  in  the  choice  of  them,  because  it  speaks  from  the  heart. 
Margaret's  gratitude  was  always  sincere.  She  was  a  creature  of 
feeling  without  cultivation,  and  imbibed  at  once  the  very  perfec- 
tion of  that  spirit  which  all  benevolent  minds  wish  to  see  ;  but 
which  if  they  do  not  see,  they  are  so  accustomed  to  the  world  that 
they  arc  not  very  greatly  disappointed.  Their  surprise  is  rather 
expressed  in  that  pleasure  which  they  imbibe  in  seeing  the  feeling 
of  a  truly  grateful  heart.     An  aged  female,  on  a  bed  of  poverty 


120  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

and  sickness,  is  but  too  frequently  left  to  negligence  and  want. 
When  their  infirmities  are  the  greatest,  and  their  cares  always  the 
most  anxious,  then  is  it  that  the  really  charitable  aid  of  the  bene- 
volent is  most  needed. 

Margaret  felt  her  own  inability  to  assist  her  aged  mother,  beyond 
the  doing  for  her  to  the  best  of  her  powers  in  all  attendances  as 
nurse  and  housewife.  She  herself  earned  no  money  ;  but  she  made 
the  best  possible  use  of  all  the  earnings  of  the  family,  as  at  that 
time  she  had  not  discovered  the  munificent  present  of  poor  John 
Barry ;  for,  not  being  able  to  read,  she  had  carefully  laid  up  the 
treasured  book,  unconscious  of  the  generosity  and  self-denial  of 
the  donor. 

At  this  time  Margaret  appears  to  have  suffered  much  privation. 
She  felt  that  she  was  dependent  upon  the  kindness  of  richer  friends 
for  those  little  delicacies  which  she  required  to  support  her 
mother's  sinking  frame;  and  never  was  heart  more  sensitively 
grateful  than  this  poor  girl's  when  she  received  some  unexpected 
trifle  of  bounty  from  the  table  of  her  indulgent  mistress.  She 
wept  with  joy  as  she  bore  the  present  home  to  her  affectionate  but 
fast-sinking  parent. 

She  had  not  very  long  to  continue  her  nursings.  Early  in  the 
year  she  lost  her  mother.  Nature  could  not  be  suspended  ;  and 
she  sank  to  rest,  with  her  head  supported  by  the  arms  of  an 
affectionate  daughter  and  a  good  husband. 

The  death  of  her  mother  was  felt  by  Margaret  very  keenly.  It 
reminded  her  of  her  own  early  affliction  ;  and  a  singular  occurrence 
took  place  at  the  funeral,  which  more  forcibly  reminded  her  of  her 
sister's  death.  Singular  was  that  occurrence,  and  perfectly  acci- 
dental. A  stranger  entered  the  churchyard  at  the  time  of  the 
ceremony,  and  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  grave,  and  actually  wept 
with  the  mourners.  No  one  knew  who  he  was,  or  where  he  came 
from;  nor  did  he  speak  to  any  one,  but  he  seemed  to  be  much 
afflicted  at  the  scene  of  sorrow.  He  remained  some  time  after  the 
mourners  had  departed,  and  saw  the  grave  filled  up  again  ;  and 
when  the  old  clerk  had  neatly  patted  round  the  mound  with  his 
spade,  and  was  about  to  leave  it,  the  stranger  asked  him  if  he  did 

not  mean  to  turf  it. 

"  Why,  I  don't  know  ;  I  don't  think  they  can  afford  to  have  it 
done  properly  ;  but,  at  all  events,  I  must  let  the  earth  settle  a 
bit  first  " 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  121 

u  How  long  will  it  take  to  do  that  ?  " 

"  That  depends  upon  the  weather.  Come  rain,  and  that  will 
soon  settle  ;  but  if  frost,  and  dry  weather  continue,  it  will  be 
some  time  first.    They  cannot  afford  to  have  it  flagged  and  binded." 

"  What  will  that  cost  ?  " 

"  I  charge  one  shilling  and  sixpence  extra  for  that,  as  I  have  to 
get  the  turf  from  the  heath  ;  but  I  shall  have  some  time  to  wait 
before  I  am  paid  for  what  I  have  done.  Time  was  when  that 
family  was  well  off ;  but  no  good  comes  of  bad  doings." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  my  man  ?  what  bad  doings  have  these 
poor  people  been  guilty  of  '?  " 

"  I  see,  sir,  you  are  a  stranger  in  these  parts,  or  else  the 
Catchpoles,  especially  one  of  them,  would  be  known  to  you  by 
common  report." 

"  Which  one  is  that  ?  " 

-'  Margaret,  sir." 

"  Well,  what  of  her  ?  has  she  been  unfortunate  ?  " 

"  If  she  has  it  has  been  her  own  seeking,  no  one's  else.  She 
might  have  done  well,  but  she  would  not." 

"  What  might  she  have  done  ?   and  what  has  she  done  ?  " 

"Why,  sir,  she  might  have  married  an  industrious  young  man, 
who  would  have  done  well  by  her  ;  but  she  choose  to  encourage  a 
vagabond  smuggler,  who  first  set  her  up  with  high  notions,  and 
then  ruined  and  left  her  to  poverty  and  shame." 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the  young  woman  is  a  depraved 
and  abandoned  character  ?  " 

"  No,  no :  I  mean  she  don't  like  any  honester  man,  and  so 
no  one  seems  to  care  anything  about  her." 

A  tear  stole  down  the  stranger's  cheeks  ;  and,  whoever  he  was, 
he  seemed  to  feel  a  little  relief  at  this  information. 

"  Is  the  young  woman  living  at  home  with  her  family  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  because  nobody  will  hire  her.  She  is  laughed  at  by  the 
females,  and  the  men  don't  care  anything  about  her.  If  they 
could  catch  her  lover,  and  pocket  a  hundred  pounds'  reward  for  his 
capture,  they  would  like  the  chance." 

"  How  are  the  family  supported  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  suppose  the  father  earns  eight  shillings  a  week,  the 
youngest  son  one-and-sixpence  ;  but  they  must  have  been  hard 
run  this  winter,  and  it  will  take  them  some  time  to  get  up  their 
back  rent  and  present  expenses." 


122  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

11  What  is  the  amount  of  their  present  expense  ?  n 

"  Why,  I  must  get,  if  I  can,  sixteen  shillings,  somehow  or  another. 
I  dare  say  I  shall  have  it ;  but  it  will  take  them  some  time  to  pay 
it.  There  is  ten  shillings  for  the  coffin  (for  I  am  carpenter,  clerk, 
and  sexton),  three  shillings  and  sixpence  digging  the  grave,  one 
shilling  for  tolling  the  bell,  and  one  shilling  and  sixpence  for  the 
clergyman  ;  that  will  exactly  make  the  sum." 

"  You  say  it  will  take  one  shilling  and  sixpence  extra  for  turfing 
and  binding  ;  that  will  be  seventeen  shillings  and  sixpence.  How 
much  do  you  think  they  owe  at  the  shop  ?  '' 

"  I  know  that  it  cost  them  three  shillings  and  sixpence  for 
flannel ;  but  I  know  it  is  not  paid  for  yet." 

"  There's  a  guinea ;  that  will  exactly  pay  you  all,  will  it 
not?"  and  the  stranger  pitched  a  guinea  against  the  sexton's 
spade. 

What  a  wonderful  thing  is  a  golden  guinea  in  the  eye  of  a  poor 
parish  clerk !  how  reverential  it  makes  a  man  feel,  especially  when 
a  stranger  pays  it  for  a  poor  man  !  He  might  have  got  it ;  but  he 
must  have  waited  the  chance  till  after  the  next  harvest. 

"  That  it  will,  sir— that  it  will.  I'll  call  and  pay  the  bill  at  the 
shop.    Are  you  coming  to  live  in  these  parts  ?  " 

"  Not  for  long — not  long  !  "  sighed  the  stranger. 

"  Why,  you  look  very  healthy,  sir  ?     You  are  not  ill  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  my  man  ;  I  do  not  mean  to  give  you  a  chance  of  getting 
another  guinea  by  me,  at  least  for  the  present.  I  only  meant  to 
say  my  stay  in  this  village  would  not  be  for  long.  But  where  do 
these  poor  people  live  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  same  place  they  used  to  do  in  the  days  of  their 
prosperity  and  respectability.  Their  house  now  stands  at  the  corner 
of  the  heath,  sir  :  shall  I  go  with  you  and  show  it  you  ?  " 

"I  can  find  it;  there  are  not  many  cottages  there.  Do  you  go 
and  pay  the  bill  at  the  shop  ;  and  then  if  you  have  a  mind  to 
bring  the  receipt,  instead  of  giving  me  the  trouble  to  call  at  your 
house  for  it,  you  will  find  me  at  the  cottage  of  these  poor  people ; 
and  hear  me,  old  man,  do  not  talk  to  any  one  about  this  matter. 
You  may  as  well  bring  a  receipt,  also  for  your  own  work  at  the 
same  time." 

"  You  are  quite  a  man  of  business,  I  see,  sir.  I  will  not  fail  to 
be  at  the  cottage  this  very  evening  with  a  receipt  in  full." 

The  old  sexton  placed  the  guinea  carefully  at  the  bottom  of  his 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  1 23 

pocket,  and,  shouldering  his  spade  and  mattock,  marched  off  to- 
wards the  village  shop.  The  stranger  walked  round  Nacton  church- 
yard. He  stood  some  time  attentively  reading  the  inscription  upon 
Admiral  Vernon's  mausoleum  ;  and,  taking  another  look  at  the 
humble,  new-made  grave  of  Margaret  Catchpole's  mother,  he  took 
the  highroad  to  the  heath  and  saw  the  cottage,  known  by  the  name 
,  of  the  Shepherd's  Cot,  at  the  verge  of  that  wild  waste. 

Meantime  the  following  conversation  was  going  on  in  that 
cottage  : — 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Margaret  to  her  father,  as  the  old  man  sat  by 
the  log-fire  in  the  chimney-corner,  u  whether  our  brother  Charles  is 
alive  or  dead  ?  " 

"I  can  just  remember  him,'"  said  the  boy  ;  "  he  used  to  be  very 
fond  of  me,  and  said  I  should  make  a  good  soldier." 

"I  have  never  heard  of  him,"  said  the  father,  "since  he  went  to 
Ipswich,  and  enlisted  in  another  name,  at  the  Black  Horse,  in 
St.  Mary  Elms.  I  understood  that  his  regiment  went  off  to  India 
almost  immediately  after  he  enlisted." 

"  I  wonder  if  he  is  alive  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell,  my  dear  ;  the  chances  are  very  much  against  it. 
He  was  a  quick,  intelligent,  lively  boy  ;  and,  when  he  was  at 
work  in  the  fields,  used  often  to  say  he  should  like  to  be  a  soldier. 
The  old  clerk  taught  him  to  read  and  write,  and  used  to  say, 
'  If  Charles  had  a  chance  he  would  be  scholar  enough  to  succeed 
him  as  parish  clerk.'  He  left  us  at  the  commencement  of  our 
misfortunes  ;  God  grant  he  may  meet  us  again  in  happier  days  !  " 

Poor  Margaret  sighed  ;  for  she  too  well  remembered  the  origin 
of  all  their  sorrows  not  to  feel  for  her  dear  parent.  That  sigh 
was  answered  by  a  sudden  knock  at  the  door,  which  occasioned  a 
start.  The  latch  was  lifted  up,  and  in  walked  the  stranger  who 
had  attended  the  funeral.  His  entrance  gave  a  change  to  their 
conversation  ;  and  Margaret  placed  a  chair  for  him,  in  which  he 
quietly  sat  down  opposite  to  the  old  labourer.  Care  had  worn  the 
countenance  of  the  venerable  man  more  than  years  and  work. 
The  only  mourning  of  an  outward  kind  which  met  the  eye,  was  an 
old  piece  of  crape  round  the  equally  old  hat  which  hung  upon  a 
peg  in  the  wall.  Nothing  else  could  be  afforded  ;  but  their  coun- 
tenances betokened  the  state  of  their  hearts.  They  were  really 
melancholy.  It  is  not  in  the  outward  pageantry  of  a  funeral  that 
real  sorrow  is  to  be  seen  ;  and  the  real  grief  of  the  Shepherd's 


124  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

Cottage  surpassed  all  the  pageantry  of  the  palace,  and  was  viewed 
with  calm  and  respectful  silence  by  the  stranger. 

He  was  a  tall,  pale,  thin  young  man,  with  a  scar  upon  the  side 
of  his  face  :  he  looked  as  if  he  had  undergone  much  sickness  <  r 
misfortune.  He  was  dressed  in  a  plain  suit  of  black,  which  hu  g 
rather  loosely  around  him.  He  asked  Margaret  if  the  youth  beside 
her  was  her  youngest  brother,  and  whether  she  had  any  other 
brothers  living.  She  replied  that  he  was,  to  the  best  of  her 
knowledge,  her  only  brother  living.  He  then  made  inquiries  con- 
cerning the  illness  of  her  late  mother  ;  and  after  various  other 
domestic  matters,  he  looked  very  earnestly  at  Margaret,  and  in  a 
seemingly  abstracted  manner  said,  "  Where  is  Will  Laud  ?  "  It 
was  as  if  an  electric  shock  had  been  given  to  all  in  the  room  ;  for 
all  started  at  the  question,  and  even  the  stranger  was  greatly  moved 
at  his  own  question,  when  he  saw  Margaret  hide  her  face  in  her 
hands,  weeping. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  occasion  you  any  grief.  I  only  asked  after  a 
man  whom  I  once  knew  as  a  boy,  and  whom  the  old  clerk  informed 
me  you  could  tell  me  more  about  than  anyone  else." 

"  And  do  not  you  know  more  of  him  than  we  do,  sir  ?  "  said  the 
old  man. 

"  I  know  nothing  of  him,  and  have  heard  nothing  of  him  since 
I  was  a  youth  ;  my  question  was  purely  accidental.  I  am  sorry 
to  see  your  daughter  so  afflicted  by  it.  Has  the  man  been  unkind 
to  her  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  !  no  !  "  said  Margaret.  "  If  you  are  here  as  a  spy,  sir, 
indeed  we  know  not  where  he  is." 

"  A  spy  !  "  said  the  stranger  ;  and  the  stranger  started  and 
muttered  something  to  himself.  Margaret  herself  now  began  to 
feel  alarmed  ;  for  the  stranger  seemed  to  be  deep  in  thought ;  and, 
as  the  flame  from  the  log  of  wood  cast  its  light  upon  his  face, 
she  thought  he  looked  ghastly  pale. 

"  A  spy  !"  said  the  stranger  ;  "  what  made  you  think  me  a  spy  ? 
— and  what  should  I  be  a  spy  for  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  affront  you,  sir  ;  but  the  question  you  asked 
concerning  one  for  whose  apprehension  a  hundred  pounds  is  offered, 
made  me  think  of  it.    Pray  pardon  me,  sir." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  he  has  done  anything  to  occasion  such  an  offer 
from  the  Government.     Has  he  murdered  any  one  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  but  Will  is  a  wild  young  man,  and  he  attempted  to 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  1 25 

kill  young  Barry  of  Levington,  and  wounded  him  so  severely,  that 
a  reward  was  offered  for  his  apprehension." 

"  Has  Barry  recovered  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  and  he  is  gone  out  of  the  country  to  Canada,  or 
some  more  distant  land." 

"  Then  never  mind  if  Laud  be  caught.  Government  will  never 
pay  a  hundred  pounds  for  his  conviction  when  the  principal  evi- 
dence cannot  be  obtained.  Never  mind  !  never  mind ! — that  will 
soon  be  forgotten." 

Such  words  of  consolation  had  never  been  uttered  in  Peggy's  ear 
before.  She  began  to  feel  very  differently  toward  the  stranger,  as 
the  tone  of  his  voice  and  his  manner,  together  with  his  words 
became  so  soothing. 

11  Thank  you,  sir,  for  your  good  wishes  ;  you  make  my  heart 
joyful  in  the  midst  of  my  mourning." 

"  I  only  wish  I  could  make  it  more  joyful  by  telling  you  any 
good  news  of  your  lover,  Margaret  ;  but  though  I  know  nothing 
of  him,  and  only  wish  he  were  more  worthy  of  you  than  he  is, 
yet  I  bear  you  tidings  of  some  one  else  of  whom  you  will  all  be 
glad  to  hear." 

"  Our  brother  Charles  !  "  both  she  and  the  boy  at  once  exclaimed, 
whilst  the  old  man  remained  in  mute  astonishment. 

11  It  is  of  your  brother  Charles  ;  and  first,  let  me  tell  you  that  he 
is  alive  and  well." 

"  Thank  God  for  that !  "  said  the  father. 

"  Next,  that  he  is  in  England,  and  it  will  not  be  long  before  you 
will  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  him." 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  in  walked  the  old  clerk, 
who,  seeing  the  stranger,  made  his  bow,  and  gave  him  a  piece  of 
paper  containing  a  receipt  for  the  guinea  which  he  had  received. 
To  the  surprise  of  all,  the  stranger  rose,  and  taking  a  little  red  box 
made  in  the  shape  of  a  barrel,  which  stood  on  the  wooden  shelf 
over  the  fire-place,  he  unscrewed  it,  and  put  the  paper  in  it  ;  and, 
replacing  it,  seated  himself  again. 

"You  were  just  telling  us  of  our  brother  Charles,"  said  Mar- 
garet. 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  sexton  "is  Charles  alive?  My  old 
scholar  !  YTiere  is  the  boy  ?  I  have  often  thought  of  him.  Oh  ! 
what  a  pity  he  took  to  drinking  ?  He  was  as  good  a  reader  as  our 
clergyman,  and  beat  me  out  and  out." 


126  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

"  He  is  not  addicted  to  drink  now,  and  is  as  sober  as  a  man  can 
be." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that.  Then  he  will  succeed  in  anything  he  under- 
takes.    But  where  has  he  been  these  many  years  ?  " 

"  You  shall  hear  if  you  will  sit  down  ;  for,  as  I  knew  him  well, 
and  was  his  most  intimate  friend,  he  made  me  his  confidant  in 
everything.  He  was  always  of  a  restless  spirit  ;  and  when  he  left 
his  father  and  friends,  he  had  no  settled  plans  in  his  mind.  He 
enlisted  in  the  33rd  regiment  of  Foot,  which  was  then  going  out  to 
India ;  and  that  his  relatives  and  friends  might  not  grieve  about 
him,  he  gave  his  name  to  the  paro2hial  authorities  of  St.  Mary 
Elms,  at  Ipswich,  as  Jacob  Dedham,  the  name  of  a  boy  who,  he 
knew,  was  not  alive.  The  parish-officer  gave  him  a  shilling,  and 
he  took  another  shilling  of  the  recruiting-officer. 

"  He  was  sworn  in,  and  took  his  departure  with  many  others  for 
Portsmouth,  at  which  place  he  embarked  for  India,  and  joined  the 
33rd  regiment  at  Bombay.  He  was  always  of  an  aspiring  and 
inquisitive  turn  of  mind.  He  became  an  active  and  orderly  soldier, 
and  assisted  the  sergeant-major  in  all  his  writings  and  accounts. 
He  soon  became  an  adept  in  all  the  cunning  and  customs  of  the 
various  castes  of  natives  in  India  ;  was  remarkable  for  the  quick- 
ness with  which  he  mastered  the  different  idioms  of  the  different 
territories  of  the  East  ;  and  at  length  became  so  noticed  by  Sir 
William  Forbes,  that  he  introduced  him  to  Lord  Cornwallis,  who 
employed  him  upon  the  frontier  of  Persia. 

"  Here  he  became  a  spy,  and  was  actively  engaged  for  that  highly 
honourable  and  intelligent  Governor-General.  He  readily  entered 
into  his  lordship's  views  ;  and,  receiving  from  him  a  purse  well- 
stored,  to  provide  himself  with  disguises,  he  assumed  the  garb  of 
a  Moorish  priest,  and  with  wonderful  tact  made  himself  master  of 
all  the  requisites  of  his  office.  I  have  here  a  sketch  of  him,  in  the 
very  dress  in  which  he  travelled  through  the  country." 

Taking  out  a  roll  from  his  coat-pocket,  he  unfolded  the  canvas 
wrapper  in  which  it  was  enclosed,  and  presented  it  to  Margaret, 
asking  her  if  she  recognised  her  brother. 

With  eager  and  interested  glance  she  looked  at  the  sketch,  but 
not  a  feature  could  she  challenge.  She  then  looked  up  at  the 
stranger,  and,  as  she  did  so  so,  said — 

II  It  is  much  more  like  you,  sir,  than  it  is  like  my  brother." 

II I  think  it  is  full  as  like  me  as  it  is  like  him.     But,  such  as 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  1 27 

it  is,  you  have  it  ;  for  he  commissioned  me  to  give  it  to  you, 
together  with  a  sketch  of  a  fortress  in  which  he  resided  a  long 
time  as  the  priest  of  the  family.  This  is  Tabgur,  on  the  frontiers 
of  Persia.  His  master  and  family  are  walking  on  the  rampart- 
garden  of  the  fort." 

Here  the  old  clerk  could  not  help  bursting  out  with  an  exclama- 
tion of  astonishment  at  the  wonderful  talent  of  his  former  pupil. 

"I  always  said  he  would  be  a  wonderful  man,  did  I  not,  Master 
Catchpole,— did  I  not  ?     Did  he  teach  himself  this  art,  sir  ?  " 

"  Indeed  he  did  ;  and  many  others  he  learned,  which  did  him 
equal  credit.  He  was  a  very  quiet  man  in  appearance,  though  he 
was  alive  to  everything  around  him.  Many  were  the  hairbreadth 
escapes  he  had ;  but  his  self-possession  carried  him  through  all. 
He  had  to  conceal  all  his  drawings  of  the  different  fortresses,  all 
his  calculations  of  the  inhabitants,  of  their  forces,  and  their  con- 
dition ;  but  he  contrived  to  wrap  them  about  his  person,  so  that 
they  could  not  be  discovered. 

"  Once,  indeed,  one  of  his  papers,  written  as  close  as  pencil  could 
write,  was  picked  up  in  the  fort-garden  at  Tabgur,  and  he  was 
suspected  for  a  spy ;  but  he  quickly  changed  their  suspicions  ;  for, 
observing  that  his  master  had  a  bad  toothache,  he  told  him  it  was 
a  charm  to  prevent  it.  Every  person,  he  said,  for  whom  he  wrote 
that  charm,  would  be  free  from  the  toothache  as  long  as  he  kept 
it  secreted  in  his  turban  ;  but  it  must  be  one  expressly  written  for 
the  purpose,  and  for  the  person  ;  and  that,  during  the  time  of  its 
being  written,  the  person  must  have  a  piece  of  rock-salt  upon  that 
very  tooth  which  was  aching  at  the  time.  The  charm  was  only  of 
use  for  the  person  for  whom  it  was  written  ;  and,  as  that  one  was 
written  for  himself,  it  could  do  the  Persian  warrior  no  good.  This 
answered  well ;  for  he  got  back  his  valuable  paper,  and  wrote  one 
immediately,  in  the  presence  of  his  master,  who,  placing  a  piece 
of  rock-salt  upon  the  tooth,  found  that,  as  he  wrote,  the  pain  was 
diminished  ;  and  when  he  concluded,  it  was  completely  gone. 

4;  But  the  next  day,  your  brother,  the  Moorish  priest,  was  gone 
also.  He  passed  over  into  Hindostan,  changed  his  Moorish  dress, 
and  soon  made  his  way  to  head-quarters,  where  he  delivered  such 
an  accurate  account  of  all  that  befell  him,  and  of  all  that  Avas 
required  of  him,  that  he  received  a  most  ample  reward.  He  called 
himself  Caulins  Jaun,  the  Moorish  priest. 

"  He  has  been  sent  to  England  by  Lord  Cornwallis,  to  deliver 


128  THE   HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

some  despatches  to  the  Government,  relating  to  the  Mysore  territory 
and  Tippoo  Sahib's  conduct ;  and,  having  accomplished  his  mission, 
he  has  asked  permission  to  visit  his  poor  friends  at  Nacton,  in 
Suffolk.  His  leave  is  very  short,  as  his  services  are  again 
required." 

"  And  when  may  we  expect  him  here  ?  "  exclaimed  Margaret. 
u  Oh,  how  I  long  to  see  him  !  " 

"  I  expect  him  here  this  night  ;  for,  as  I  was  his  companion, 
and  am  to  go  back  again  with  him,  so  I  am  his  forerunner  upon 
this  occasion." 

"I  could  almost  set  the  village-bells  ringing  for  joy,"  said  the 
old  clerk.     "  I  wonder  whether  he  would  know  me." 

"  That  I  am  sure  he  would." 

"■  Pray,  sir,  how  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  Because  the  description  he  gave  me  of  you  is  so  accurate  that 
I  could  tell  you  from  a  thousand.  Do  you  remember  the  sketch 
he  made  of  an  old  woman  throwing  a  cat  at  her  husband  ?  " 

"  That  I  do.     Did  he  tell  you  of  that  ?  " 

"  That  he  did  ;  and  of  the  scratch  he  got  from  the  cat's  claws, 
as  you  bopped  your  head,  and  puss  lit  directly  on  his  face." 

Here  the  old  man  could  not  help  laughing. 

"  But  did  he  tell  you  nothing  else  about  the  sketch  ?  " 

"  That  he  did,  and  with  such  feeling,  that  I  almost  fancy  I  see 
now  the  scrub-brush  belabouring  his  head  for  his  pains." 

"  Oh,  dear !  oh,  dear  !  I  thought  he  had  forgotten  all  that." 

"  No  ;  he  thought  of  it  at  the  very  time  he  was  sketching  the 
forts  of  his  enemies'  country.  Had  he  been  caught  in  such  freaks 
as  those,  he  would  have  had  a  severer  punishment  than  what  your 
good  dame  gave  him." 

"  But,  if  my  old  dame  could  see  him  now,  how  rejoiced  she 
would  be  ;  for,  notwithstanding  his  roguery,  he  was  a  great  favourite 
of  hers !  " 

"  She  will  see  him  to-morrow." 

u  That  will  be  news  for  the  old  woman.  But  shall  I  see  him 
this  night  ?  I  would  not  mind  waiting  till  midnight  for  such  a 
purpose." 

"  That  you  may.  But  I  do  not  think  that  even  you  would  know 
him,  were  you  to  see  him.1' 

"  Why  not  ?     Would  he  know  me  ?  " 

"  He   would :  but  youth  alters  more  in  countenance  than  age, 


THE   HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  129 

especially  where  a  foreign  climate  has  acted  upon  the  constitu- 
tion." 

"  I  should  know  him  from  two  things,"  said  Margaret.  "  He 
once  so  nearly  cut  off  the  end  of  his  little  finger  with  a  sharp  tool, 
that  it  hun»  only  by  a  piece  of  skin  :  it  was  bound  up,  so  that  it 
adhered  and  grew  together  ;  but  somehow,  the  tip  got  a  twist,  so 
that  the  nail  of  the  finger  grew  under  the  hand  :  it  was  the  left 
hand." 

"  And  what  was  the  other  mark  ?  " 

u  It  was  a  deep  scar  on  the  back  of  the  same  hand,  caused  by 
imprudently  cutting  off  a  large  wart." 

"  Xow,  tell  me,"  said  the  stranger,  drawing  the  glove  off  his  left 
hand,  "  were  the  scars  you  mention  anything  like  those  ?  " 

"  Exactly,"  said  the  clerk,  who  looked  at  him  again  and  again 
with  amazement. 

"  Why,  you  can't  be  he  ?     Are  you  Master  Charles  ?  " 

"  Can  you  doubt  it  ?  " 

"  The  hand  is  his." 

"  And  the  hand  is  mine.  Therefore  the  hand  is  the  hand  of 
Charles." 

The  old  man  rose,  and  coming  forward  said,  "  I  do  believe  you 
are  my  son  ;  I  have  been  thinking  so  for  some  time,  and  I  am 
now  satisfied  that  it  is  so.  God  bless  you,  my  boy  !  You  are 
come  at  a  seasonable  hour,  for  the  Lord  gives  and  takes  away  as 
He  sees  best." 

A  hearty  embrace  and  affectionate  recognition  took  place.  The 
stranger  (now  no  longer  such)  soon  convinced  them  of  his  identity  ; 
and  though  no  one  could  really  have  known  a  single  feature  of  his 
countenance,  yet  he  gave  them  such  internal  and  external  evidences 
of  his  relationship,  calling  to  mind  so  many  circumstances  of  such 
deep  interest  to  them  all,  that  he  was  soon  acknowledged  to  be  their 
relative. 

Happiness  comes  unexpectedly  in  the  days  of  mourning.  The 
wild  recruit  had  re-turned,  after  many  days,  to  cheer  an  agsjd  parent 
and  a  forlorn  sister,  who  needed  the  hand  of  some  one  to  help 
them  in  their  troubles.  The  old  man's  heart  revived  again  ;  and 
it  was  a  pleasure  to  witness  the  joys  of  the  few  days  which  then 
visited  the  Catchpoles,  and  the  congratulations  which  they  received 
from  the  old  clerk  and  his  wife  upon  the  bright  prospects  of  a 
hopeful  son.     Reports  spread  like  wildfire  that  Charles  Catchpole 


130  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

had  come  home,  and  that  he  had  returned  from  India  as  rich  as 
a  Nabob.  Reports  are  generally  exaggerated,  and  they  were  not  a 
little  so  in  the  present  case  ;  for  although  Charles  might  be  com- 
paratively rich,  his  fortune,  as  the  world  terms  it,  was  anything  but 
made.  He  had  a  few  guineas  to  spare  ;  but  he  had  to  return  to 
India,  and  to  pursue  a  very  hazardous  course  of  life,  before  he 
could  even  hope  to  gain  that  independence  which  had  been  pro- 
mised to  him.  A  few  guineas,  however,  make  a  great  show  in  a 
cottage.  lie  paid  his  fathers  debts  ;  made  a  present  to  the  old 
clerk's  wife  ;  bought  his  sister  a  new  gown  ;  his  younger  brother, 
Edward,  a  new  suit  of  clothes  ;  paid  one  year's  rent  in  advance  for 
the  cottage  ;  left  a  present  with  the  sexton  to  keep  his  mother  s 
grave  ever  green  ;  and  announced  his  departure  to  his  family  after 
staying  one  short  week  after  five  years'  absence. 

"  I  shall  see  you  no  more,  Charles  !  "  exclaimed  Margaret,  at 
parting.  "  I  fear  that  I  shall  see  you  no  more !  You  are  going 
through  a  dangerous  country,  and  the  perils  you  have  already 
escaped  you  must  not  always  expect  to  avoid." 

"Fear  not,  Peggy,  fear  not.  God  sent  me  in  a  proper  season 
to  comfort  you,  and  if  you  trust  in  Him,  He  will  send  you  some 
other  friend  in  need,  if  it  be  not  such  a  one  as  myself." 

"  Oh,  let  me  go  with  you,  dear  brother  !  I  should  like  to 
accompany  you,"  said  Edward,  his  brother. 

"  That  cannot  be,  Edward.  You  must  remain  at  home  to  help 
your  father  and  sister  ;  you  are  not  able  to  undertake  a  march  of 
many  thousand  miles,  under  a  sun  burning  your  face,  and  a  sand 
scorching  your  feet.  I  have  a  good  friend,  however,  in  Lord  Corn- 
wallis,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  some  time  hence  I  shall  be  enabled 
to  do  you  some  service.  I  do  not  recommend  you  to  be  a  soldier  ; 
but  if  you  wish  it,  when  I  see  his  lordship  I  will  ask  him  to  help 
you.  You  shall  hear  from  me  in  the  course  of  a  year  or  so ;  iu 
the  meantime  make  all  the  progress  you  can  in  reading  and  writing 
with  the  old  clerk,  and  be  industrious.  I  must  be  in  London 
to-morrow,  and  shall  soon  sail  for  India.  I  shall  never  forget  any 
of  you." 

"God  bless  you  all !  — good-bye,"  were  the  parting  words  of 
Charles  Catchpole.  There  is  in  that  short  sentence,  "  Good-bye," 
a  melancholy  sense  of  departure  which  the  full  heart  cannot  express. 

"  Good-bye  ! — good-bye  !  "  and  Margaret  gave  vent  to  her  grief 
in  tears,  whilst  the  old  man  clasped  his  hands  in  silent  prayer. 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  131 

The  fond  brother  and  affectionate  son  is  gone  ;  and  never  did 
Margaret  see  that  brother  again.  She  was  shortly  to  change  her 
place  of  abode.  Her  uncle  Leader,  who  lived  at  Brandiston,  and 
who  had  a  young  family,  and  was  left  a  widower,  sought  the 
assistance  of  his  niece  ;  and  though  her  father  could  but  ill  spare 
her,  yet  as  there  were  so  many  children,  and  Margaret  was  so  good 
a  nurse,  he  could  not  refuse  his  consent.  There  was  another 
feeling,  too,  which  prompted  the  good  old  man  to  spare  her. 
Though  he  loved  his  daughter's  company,  he  knew  that  she 
deserved  to  be  thought  better  of  by  many  who  disregarded  her 
in  her  own  neighbourhood,  and  he  thought  a  change  would  be 
good  for  her.  It  might  produce  in  her  a  change  of  mind  towards 
Will  Laud— a  thing  he  most  earnestly  wished  for,  though  he  would 
not  grieve  her  by  saying  so.  It  would  at  all  events  remove  her 
from  many  little  persecutions  which,  though  she  professed  not  to 
feel  them,  he  knew  weighed  heavily  on  her  spirits;  and  come 
what  might,  even  should  Laud  return,  he  was  not  known  there, 
and  he  might  be  a  happier  man.  Under  all  these  circumstances,  he 
not  only  gave  his  consent,  but  urged  her  going.  She  left  her 
father's  roof  on  the  Monday  with  her  uncle. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

POVERTY  AND   PRIDE. 


O.v  the  evening  of  the  very  day  on  which  Margaret  quitted  her 
father's  roof  for  that  of  her  uncle,  as  the  old  man  was  sitting 
pensively  at  his  cottage  fire,  a  knock  at  the  door  announced  a 
visitor.  The  door  opened,  and  in  walked  Will  Laud,  together  with 
his  friend,  John  Luff. 

"  Good-evening,  father,"  said  Will.  (;  We  are  come  now  from 
the  shore.  Our  boat  is  once  more  moored  to  the  rails  at  the 
landing-place,  by  Orwell  Park,  and  we  are  come  across  the  lands 
to  see  you.  We  had  some  difficulty  in  finding  out  your  berth. 
You  have  changed  your  place  of  abode." 

"  Say  that  you  have  changed  it  for  us,  and  you  will  be  nearer 
the  mark.  For  ever  since  we  knew  you  and  your  companion,  we 
have  known  nothing  but  changes,  and  few  of  them  for  the  better." 

9 


132  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

"  Things  cannot  always  change  for  the  worse,  surely." 

"  I  wonder  you  are  not  afraid  to  be  seen  in  this  part  of  the 
country.  There  are  many  here,  Will,  that  would  be  glad  of  a 
hundred  pounds,  the  price  set  upon  your  head." 

"  And  yourself  foremost  of  that  number,  I  daresay,"  said  the 
gruff  smuggler  who  accompanied  Will  Laud. 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  with  a  placid  but  firm  countenance 
and  said,  "  That  is  the  language  of  a  villain  !  Do  you  think  I  am 
so  fond  of  money  as  yourself  ;  or  that  I  would  sell  my  daughter's 
lover  for  a  hundred  pounds  ?  The  door  you  have  just  opened  is 
not  yet  closed,  and  if  such  be  your  opinion,  the  sooner  you  take 
your  departure  hence  the  better." 

"  Humph!  humph  !  "  said  Luff.  "  You  need  not  be  so  crusty, 
Mr.  Catchpole — you  need  not  be  so  boisterous.  We  have  not 
seen  the  inside  of  a  house  for  many  a  long  month,  and  if  this  be 
the  first  welcome  we  are  to  have,  it  is  rather  ominous." 

"  What  welcome  do  those  men  deserve  who  cause  the  ruin  of 
others  ?  " 

"  We  have  not  intentionally  caused  your  ruin,  father,"  said  Laud  ; 
"  but  we  come  in  peace  ;  we  wish  to  abide  in  peace,  and  to  depart 
in  peace." 

11  Then  you  should  teach  your  friend  to  keep  his  foul  tongue 
still,  or  it  will  cause  you  more  trouble  than  you  are  aware  of." 

"I  miss  the  principal  ornament  of  your  house,  Master  Catch- 
pcl)"  said  Will.     " Where  are  all  the  females  gone  ? " 

11  Some  are  gone  where  I  hope  soon  to  join  them  ;  the  one  you 
feel  most  interest  about  is  gone  to  service." 

"  I  was  told,  not  an  hour  ago,  that  Margaret  lived  at  home  with 

you." 

At  this  instant  the  door  was  opened,  and  young  Edward  Catch- 
pole  entered.  He  had  been  to  put  his  sheep  safe  into  fold,  and 
came  whistling  home,  with  little  thought  of  seeing  any  strangers 
in  his  father's  cottage. 

"  Boy,  do  you  know  me  ?  "  was  the  inquiry  made  by  "Will  Laud. 

"  Not  yet,"  said  the  younger  ;  "but  I  can  give  a  shrewd  guess  ; 
and  I  can  tell  you  something  which  will  soon  prove  whether  I  guess 
right  or  not.  As  I  came  over  the  heath,  I  met  two  sailors,  who 
appeared  to  me  to  belong  to  the  preventive-service.  They  were 
on  horseback.  They  stopped  and  asked  me  if  I  had  seen  a  cart, 
and  whether  it  was  going  fast,  and  which  road  it  took  ;  whether 


THE    HISTORY    Of    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  133 

it  went  across  the  heath,  or  along  the  road.  I  told  them  plainly 
it  was  before  them,  and  that  it  had  turned  down  the  road  towards 
the  decoy-ponds.  They  then  asked  me  if  I  had  met  two  sailor- 
looking  men  walking.  To  this,  of  course,  I  said  No.  But  I  suspect 
they  must  have  meant  you." 

11  How  could  that  be  ?  "  said  Laud.  "  We  came  not  along  the 
road." 

"  No  ;  but  you  might  have  seen  some  one  who  was  going  to 
Nacton  Street,  and  they  might  have  been  inquired  of." 

"  That's  true,  indeed.  We  had  to  ask  where  your  father  lived, 
and  our  curiosity  concerning  your  family  nas  led  to  this  pursuit 
of  us." 

"  One  of  the  men  I  think  I  have  seen  before,  and,  if  I  mistake 
not,  it  is  the  same  Edward  Barry  that  my  sister  and  I  went  to  see 
at  Bawdsey  boat-house.'' 

"Your  sister  went  to  see  Edward  Barry!  What  on  earth  for, 
my  lad  ?  " 

"Nay,  don't  be  jealous,  Laud.  There  was  a  report  that  you 
were  drowned,  and  that  your  body  was  cast  on  shore.  The  bearer 
of  that  report  was  your  rival,  John  Barry.  Margaret  would  not 
believe  that  report,  unless  she  should  see  your  body.  So  I  drove 
her  there,  and  Edward  Barry,  who  had  the  key  of  the  boat-house, 
permitted  her  to  see  the  bodies,  which  satisfied  her  that  the  report 
was  unfounded." 

The  two  men  looked  significantly  at  each  other,  as  much  as  to 
say,  "  It  is  time  for  us  to  be  off." 

"  I  have  one  question  more  to  ask,"  said  Laud.  "  Where  is 
Margaret  ? " 

"  She  is  gone  to  service  at  her  Uncle  Leader's,  of  Brandiston. 
It  is  no  great  place  for  her,  but  she  will  be  out  of  the  way  of 
reproaches  she  has  suffered,  Laud,  on  your  account.  Moreover, 
she  has  refused  the  hand  of  a  most  respectable  young  man,  whom 
I  should  have  been  glad  that  she  would  have  accepted.  But  he  is 
gone  to  a  distant  land,  and  neither  you  nor  I,  Will,  shall  see 
him  again.  John  Barry  has  sailed,  as  a  free  settler,  either  to  Van 
Diemen's  Land,  or  to  Canada,  I  know  not  which." 

These  words  were  most  welcome  to  the  listener's  heart.  He 
had  not  heard  any  which  sounded  so  joyful  to  him  for  a  long  time. 
He  made  no  reply,  however,  but  tendered  a  purse  to  the  old  man. 

"  No  ;  keep  your  money  to  yourself,  Laud,  and  make  an  honest 


134  THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

use  of  it.  I  would  not  touch  it,  if  I  was  starving.  But  you  may- 
rest  litre  if  you  please,  and  such  cheer  as  my  poor  cot  can  afford 
you  shall  be  welcome  to,  for  my  dear  daughter's  sake  ! " 

"No,  no,  I  thank  you.  We  must  be  on  board  our  ship  again 
to-night.  Our  bark  is  in  the  river,  and  if  the  enemy  catch  us,  he 
will  show  us  no  quarter.     So  good-night,  father,  good-night  !  " 

"I  do  not  wish  to  detain  you,  but  hear  me,  Laud.  If  you  have 
a  mind  to  make  my  poor  girl  happy,  leave  off  your  present  life, 
and  th's  acquaintance  too,  this  man's  company." 

"Come  on!"  said  Luff,  impatiently — "Come  on!  We've  got 
no  time  to  lose.  Our  boat  will  be  fast  upon  the  mud.  Good-night, 
old  man,  and  when  you  and  I  meet  again,  let  us  be  a  little  more 
friendly  to  each  other." 

It  was  well  for  both  of  them  that  they  departed  as  they  did  ;  for, 
shortly  after  they  were  gone,  the  tramp  of  horses  along  the  road 
told  of  the  return  of  the  coast-guard. 

They  stopped  at  Catchpole's  cottage,  and  calling  aloud,  young 
Edward  went  out  to  them. 

"  Hold  our  horses,  young  man,  will  you  ?  we  want  to  light  our 
pipes." 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Edward,  coming  to  the  little  garden-gate. 
Both  men  alighted,  and  he  could  see  that  they  were  well  armed. 
They  walked  directly  to  the  door  ;  and  seeing  the  old  man  seated 
by  the  fire,  one  of  them  said — 

"We  want  to  light  our  pipes,  Master  Catchpole.  It  is  a  blustering 
night.  Have  you  a  tobacco-pipe,  for  I  have  broken  mine  rather 
short  1 " 

The  old  man  took  one  from  his  corner  and  gave  it  to  young 
Barry,  whom,  from  his  likeness  to  his  brother,  he  could  distin- 
guish, and  simply  said,  ''You  are  welcome  to  it,  sir." 

"  Your  son  sent  us  on  a  wrong  scent  to-night." 

"  I  do  not  think  he  did  so  knowingly.  I  heard  him  say  he  met 
you  ;  and  he  told  me  he  directed  you  aright." 

"  We  saw  nothing  of  the  cart.  We  have  reason  to  believe  that 
a  rich  cargo  of  goods  has  been  landed  at  Felixstow,  and  that  the 
last  cart-load  went  along  this  road  to  Ipswich.  Have  you  had  any 
of  your  old  seafaring  friends  here  ?  Are  there  any  here  now  ? 
You  know  whom  I  mean." 

"  You  may  search  and  see  for  yourself.  Every  door  of  this 
house  will  open  at  your  trial.     If  that  is  sufficient  answer  to  your 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  1 35 

question,  you  are  welcome  to  take  it.  Nay,  I  wish  most  heartily 
that  you  and  your  brother  had  been  my  friends  long  before  the 
one  to  whom  you  allude  had  ever  darkened  my  door." 

When  the  young  man  remembered  his  brother's  attachment,  and 
the  really  worthy  object  of  it,  there  was  a  grateful  feeling  which 
came  over  his  mind,  notwithstanding  the  disappointment  which 
his  brother,  himself,  and  his  family  had  experienced,  which  made 
him  feel  respect  for  the  old  man. 

"I  thank  you,  Master  Catch  pole — I  thank  you.  Had  such  been 
the  case,  you  might  have  had  a  good  son,  and  I  should  not  have 
lost  a  good  brother  ;  and,  on  my  conscience,  1  believe  I  should  have 
gained  a  good  sister.  But  there  is  no  accounting  for  a  woman's 
taste.  I  tell  you  honestly,  Master  Catch  pole,  that  for  your 
daughter's  sake  I  wish  her  lover,  or  the  man  she  loves,  were  a 
worthier  character.1' 

"I  know  that  both  she  and  I  wish  it  so — she  with  hope — I,  alas  ! 
confess  that  I  have  no  hope  of  that.  As  long  as  he  lives  he  will 
never  alter,  except  for  the  worse." 

"  I  wish  it  may  be  otherwise.  But  come,  my  mate,  it  is  no  use 
our  waiting  here,  we  must  go  on  to  Felixstow.  If  at  any  time, 
Master  Catch  pole,  I  can  be  of  service  to  you,  you  have  nothing 
to  do  but  to  send  a  messenger  to  Bawdsey  Ferry,  and  the  brother 
of  him  who  is  now  far  away  will  do  what  he  can  to  help  you. 
Good-night,  Master  Catchpole  !  " 

They  returned  to  their  horses,  mounted  them  again,  and  telling 
Ned  that  he  might  drink  their  healths  whenever  he  pleased,  gave 
him  sixpence,  and  rode  off. 

"  Father,"  said  Edward,  when  he  was  again  seated  by  the  fire, 
u  I  do  not — I  cannot  like  that  fellow  Laud  ;  and  how  Margaret 
can  endure  him  is  to  me  strange.'' 

"  She  knew  him,  my  boy,  before  he  became  the  character  ho 
now  is." 

"I  am  sorry  to  lose  my  sister;  but  she  will  at  least  be  better 
off  where  she  is,  and  far  away  from  reproaches.  We  must  make 
out  without  her  as  well  as  we  can.  Our  old  sexton's  sister  has 
promised  to  come  and  do  for  us  ;  so  we  shall  have  some  help." 

So  father  and  son  consoled  themselves  ;  and  after  their  frugal 
meal  returned  to  their  straw- stuffed  beds  ;  and  slept  upon  their 
cares. 

Meantime  it  was  no  small  task  that  Margaret  had  undertaken. 


136  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

She  was  to  be  as  a  mother  to  seven  young  children,  and  to  keep 
her  uncle's  house  in  order,  and  to  provide  everything  to  the  best 
of  her  power.  But  her  spirit  was  equal  to  the  undertaking  ;  and 
the  new  life  which  came  to  her  through  change  of  place  and  people 
soon  animated  her  to  those  exertions  necessary  to  her  position — a 
situation  so  difficult  and  arduous. 

Place  a  woman  in  a  domestic  station,  where  the  power  of  a 
mistress  and  the  work  of  a  servant  are  to  be  performed,  and  see 
if  she  cannot  show  what  a  quantity  of  work  may  be  done  with 
one  pair  of  hands.  A  good  head,  and  a  kind  heart,  and  a  willing 
hand,  are  virtues  which,  as  long  as  industry  and  honesty  are  praise- 
worthy, will  be  sure  to  succeed. 

Her  uncle  was  but  a  labourer,  earning  twelve  shillings  a  week 
at  the  utmost,  and  that  by  working  over-hours.  At  that  time  of 
day  such  wages  were  considered  very  large  ;  and  where  the  house 
wife  was  active  with  her  loom,  or  the  aged  with  her  spinning-wheel, 
labourers  used  sometimes  to  lay  by  something  considerable,  and 
not  unfrequently  rose  to  be  themselves  masters.  The  wages  which 
Mr.  Leader  earned  were  sufficient,  in  the  hands  of  this  active  girl, 
to  provide  every  necessary  for  the  week,  and  to  lay  by  something 
for  rent. 

She  soon  made  the  eldest  girl  a  good  nurse  ;  and  gave  her  such 
a  method  of  management  as  saved  herself  much  trouble.  In  the 
first  place,  she  began  her  rule  with  a  most  valuable  maxim  of  her 
own  inculcation:  "A  place  for  everything,  and  everything  in  its 
place."  Another  of  her  maxims  was:  "  Clean  everything  when 
clone  with,  and  put  it  up  properly  and  promptly."  Also,  "When- 
ever you  see  anything  wrong,  put  it  right."  "  Everything  that  is 
broken  should  be  either  mended  or  thrown  away."  She  would  not 
admit  of  waste  in  anything.     Among  her  good  old  saws  was  also  : 

"  Early  to  bed,  and  early  to  rise, 
Makes  a  man  healthy,  and  wealthy,  and  wise." 

She  would  never  suffer  a  bill  to  stand  beyond  xhe  week  at  any 
snop.  The  Saturday  night,  at  nine  o'clock,  saw  her  and  her  uncle's 
family  out  of  debt,  and  the  children  all  clean  washed,  with  their 
white  linen  laid  out  for  the  Sabbath-day.  And  to  see,  on  that 
holy  day,  with  what  quiet,  hushed  little  feet  they  entered,  four  of 
them  at  least,  the  village  church  of  Brandiston,  with  their  foster- 
mother,  was  a  sight  which  caught  the  attention  of  every  well-dis- 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  137 

posed  person  in  the  parish.  Master  Leader's  luck  in  a  housekeeper 
was  soon  spoken  of  ;  and  many  a  parent  pointed  out  Margaret  as 
a  good  chance  for  a  poor  man. 

Up  to  this  time  Margaret  could  not  read  a  single  word  :  but  she 
was  very  glad  when  the  vicar's  lady  undertook  to  send  two  of  the 
children  to  the  village-school.  She  encouraged  them  to  learn 
their  daily  tasks,  and  made  them  teach  her  in  the  evening  what 
they  had  learned  at  the  school  in  the  day  ;  and  in  this  manner  she 
acquired  her  first  knowledge  of  letters.  The  children  took  such 
pleasure  in  teaching  her,  that  they  always  paid  the  greatest  atten- 
tion to  their  lessons. 

Margaret  was  now  comparatively  happy  in  the  performance  of 
her  duties  ;  and  felt  relieved  from  the  restraint  and  reproach  which 
at  ISTacton,  where  her  father  lived,  had  been  attached  to  her 
character,  on  account  of  William  Laud.  How  long  she  might  have 
continued  in  this  enviable  state  of  things  it  would  be  difficult  to 
surmise;  but  she  seemed  fated  to  encounter  untoward  circumstances 
over  which  she  could  exercise  no  control.  She  conducted  herself 
with  the  greatest  propriety.  The  children  loved  her  as  they  would 
a  kind  parent ;  and  all  who  knew  her  in  the  village  of  Brandiston 
esteemed  her  for  her  able  conduct  of  her  uncle's  family.  Had  that 
uncle  himself  been  a  wise  man,  he  would  never  have  given  occasion 
for  Margaret  to  leave  him  :  but  no  man  is  wise  at  all  hours  ;  and 
Mr.  Leader,  though  a  very  honest,  good  labourer,  and  a  steady 
man  in  his  way,  in  an  hour  of  too  little  thought,  perhaps,  or  of  too 
superficial  promise  of  happiness,  chose  to  take  unto  himself  a  new 
wife  ;  a  fat  buxom  widow  of  forty,  owner  of  two  cottages,  and  two 
pieces  of  land  in  Brandiston  Street,  and  a  little  ready  money  be- 
sides, with  only  one  little  daughter,  engaged  his  attention.  He, 
poor  simple  man,  thinking  he  might  better  his  condition,  save  his 
rent,  and  add  to  his  domestic  comfort,  consented,  or  rather  en- 
treated, that  the  banns  might  be  published  for  his  second  marriage. 

Had  the  woman  herself  been  a  wise  one,  she  would  have  seen 
how  requisite  Margaret's  care  was  to  the  family.  But  she  became 
mistress,  and  must  command  every  one  in  the  house — her  house 
too  !  and  she  was  not  to  be  interfered  with  by  any  one.  She  would 
not  be  dictated  to  in  her  own  house.  No  !  though  her  husband 
had  a  niece  who  might  have  been  all  very  well,  yet  he  had  now 
a  wife,  and  a  wife  ought  to  be  a  man's  first  consideration — a  wife 
with  a  house  over  her  head,  her  own  property. 


138  THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

Men  may  have  notions  of  the  greatness  of  their  possessions  ; 
but  a  weak  woman,  when  once  she  has  an  all-absorbing  and  over- 
weening idea  of  her  own  great  wealth,  becomes  so  infatuated  with 
the  possession  of  power  which  that  property  gives  her,  that  there 
are  scarcely  any  bounds  to  her  folly.  Money  may  make  some  men, 
perhaps  many,  tyrants  ;  but  when  a  woman  exercises  the  power  of 
money  alone,  she  becomes  the  far  greater  tyrant.  Her  fondness  for 
wealth  makes  her  more  cruel  and  unnatural  in  her  conduct  ;  she 
forgets  her  sex — her  nature — her  children — her  friends — her  de- 
pendants— and,  alas  !  her  God  1 

And  soon  did  the  new  Mrs.  Leader  make  a  chaos  of  that  family 
which  had  recently  been  all  order  and  regularity.  The  manage- 
ment of  household  affairs  was  taken  out  of  Margaret's  hands. 
Bills  were  left  to  be  paid  when  the  new  mistress  received  the  rents 
of  her  cottages  and  land.  The  children  were  foolishly  indulged ; 
turned  out  to  play  in  the  street  ;  taught  to  disregard  Margaret, 
and  to  look  upon  her  as  a  servant ;  her  daughter  was  never  to  be 
contradicted  ;  in  short,  every  one  in  the  house  was  to  bend  to  the 
will  of  its  new  mistress. 

Such  a  change  had  taken  place  in  the  comforts  and  conduct  of 
the  house,  that  Margaret,  with  all  her  care,  could  manage  nothing. 
She  was  thwarted  in  all  she  did — eyed  with  jealousy  on  account 
of  the  praise  bestowed  upon  her — taught  continually  to  remember 
and  know  herself  and  her  station — and  to  behave  with  more  respect 
to  her  betters,  or  else  to  quit  the  house. 

Margaret  had  a  sweet  temper,  and  really  loved  her  uncle  and  the 
children,  or  she  could  not  have  endured  so  long  as  she  did  the  way- 
wardness of  this  purse-proud  woman. 

Matters  had  been  going  on  in  no  very  pleasant  manner  in 
Mr.  Leader's  cottage,  and  Margaret  had  found  herself  in  a  very 
uncomfortable  situation.  She  had  been  quite  removed  from  her 
honourable  station,  as  governess  of  the  family,  and  had  been  treated 
as  a  very  unworthy  menial  by  her  ignorant  aunt. 

While  things  were  in  this  state,  it  so  happened,  that  one  evening 
in  the  mon..i  of  April,  Margaret  was  sent  from  her  aunt's  cottage 
to  the  village  shop  to  purchase  some  article  that  was  wanted  for  the 
morrow.  It  was  late  when  she  went  out,  and  the  shop  stood  com- 
pletely at  the  end  of  the  village.  It  was  one  of  those  general  shops, 
half  a  good  dwelling-house,  and  half  a  shop,  where  the  respected 
tenant  carried  on  a  considerable  business  without  much  outward  show. 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  1 39 

A  lane  branched  off  from  the  main  street  leading  down  to  the 
vicarage,  called  the  Church  Road.  It  was,  properly  speaking,  the 
Woodbridge  Road  from  Brandiston.  At  the  moment  Margaret 
was  passing  over  this  crossway  towards  the  shop,  she  was  accosted 
by  the  familiar  voice  of  one  asking  where  Mr.  William  Leader 
lived.     Margaret  replied  : — 

"  I  am  now  come  from  Mr.  Leader's.  He  is  my  uncle.  Do  you 
want  to  see  him  ?" 

"  No,  Margaret,  it  is  yourself  I  am  in  search  of.  Do  you  not 
know  my  voice  i  " 

It  was  "William  Land  ! 

The  reader  must  conceive  the  joy,  the  astonishment,  the  surpiise, 
the  fear,  or  all  these  sensations  combined  in  one,  which  Margaret, 
the  persecuted  Margaret,  felt  in  being  thus  accosted  by  her  lover. 
Did  it  require  any  great  persuasion  to  induce  her  to  turn  aside 
at  such  a  moment,  and  walk  a  little  way  down  the  Church  Road, 
past  the  Old  Hall,  with  one  she  had  not  teen  or  heard  of  for  so 
long  a  time  ;  one  whom,  with  a  woman's  faithfulness,  she  still  loved 
with  all  the  strength  of  her  mind  and  heart  ? 

"I  have  been  very  ill,  Margaret,"  said  Laud,  "since  I  came 
ashore  and  saw  your  father  and  brother.  It  was  the  very  evening 
of  the  day  you  left  home.  Had  you  left  one  day  later,  I  should 
have  seen  you,  and,  perhaps,  I  might  have  been  spared  a  fever 
which  has  reduced  me  to  the  verge  of  the  grave." 

"  It  is  so  long  since  I  have  seen  or  heard  of  you,  William,  that 
I  began  to  think  you  had  forgotten  me." 

"I  have  never  forgotten  you,  Margaret,  and  I  never  shall,  till 
I  cease  to  remember  anything.  In  storm  and  tempest,  in  calm 
and  sunshine ;  in  the  midnight  watch,  or  under  the  clear  blue  sky  ; 
in  danger  or  in  safety,  in  health  or  in  sickness  ;  in  the  hour  of 
boisterous  mirth,  or  in  the  rough  hammock  of  the  seaman,  when 
the  dash  of  waves  and  the  whistling  winds  have  swept  by  me,  Mar- 
garet, I  have  always  thought  of  you  ;  but  never  more  than  in 
those  moments  of  fever  and  anxiety,  when  I  have  been  suffering 
from  the  extremes  of  pain  and  sickness.  Then,  Margaret,  I 
remembered  your  soothing  kindness ;  and  then  I  bitterly  felt 
your  absence.  But  have  you  forgotten  and  forgiven  my  rough 
conduct,  when  we  last  met,  a  long  time  ago  ?  I  am  alone  now,  and 
but  a  poor  creature." 

"I  have  not  forgotten,  William,  because  I  cannot  forget  ;  but  I 


140  THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

have  always  forgiven  you.  Much,  much  have  I  suffered  on  your 
account ;  shame,  reproach,  and  poverty,  have  visited  me  through 
you — loss  of  kindred,  friends,  and  companions ;  but  God  has  en- 
abled me  to  bear  all,  with  the  hope  that  I  should  one  day  see  you 
an  altered  man.'' 

"  Yes,  Margaret,  yes  ;  and  so  you  shall.  I  am  altered  much — 
I  long  to  leave  my  present  line  of  life,  and  to  settle  in  some  place 
where  I  never  was  known.  Captain  Bargood  has  given  me  his 
word,  that,  after  one  more  voyage,  I  shall  be  released,  with  prize- 
money  sufficient  to  settle  anywhere  I  please,  and  to  give  me  a  free 
passage  to  that  place,  be  it  where  it  may." 

"  I  can  only  say,  William,  I  wish  that  one  voyage  was  over.  I 
hate  your  companions  and  your  employment.  I  fear  to  lose  you 
again,  William.  Oh,  why  not  get  some  honest  work  on  land,  and 
let  me  toil  for  and  with  you  ? " 

"Margaret,  I  am  here  upon  my  word  of  honour  to  the  captain, 
that  I  would  go  one  more  run  for  him.  I  have  been  a  long  trip 
this  last  time,  across  the  Atlantic,  and  I  am  promised  a  different 
tack  the  next  time.  But  it  will  soon  be  over,  and  then  I  will 
renounce  them  all.  The  captain  has  nursed  me  in  his  own  house, 
and  though  a  rough  fellow  and  a  poor  comforter  for  a  sick  man, 
yet  I  believe  he  did  his  best,  and  I  am  bound  to  be  grateful  to 
him." 

"I  wish  your  duty  taught  you,  Will,  some  better  obligation. 
My  heart  misgives  me  for  you  ;  and  I  can  never  sanction  a  day  in 
unlawful  pursuits.  I  grieve  for  you.  But  time  steals  away,  William, 
and  I  have  forgotten  my  own  duty.  I  have  not  a  very  kind  mis- 
tress in  my  new  aunt  ;  but  my  duty  is  obedience.  I  have  to  go  to 
shop  now,  and  I  fear  it  will  be  closed  if  I  delay  any  longer.  When 
shall  I  see  you  again,  William  ?  " 

"  I  fear  me,  not  until  this  last  voyage  is  over.  I  hope  that 
will  be  a  short  one.  I  shall  just  go  into  the  King's  Head,  refresh 
myself,  and  start  again  for  the  coast  by  daylight." 

"  Well,  William,  you  have  my  prayers  and  my  love,  and  I  hope 
you  may  one  day  claim  my  duty.  At  present,  that  duty  is  due  to 
my  uncle.  So  we  must  part ! — Take  care  of  yourself. — How  did 
you  catch  that  fever  ?  " 

"  By  over-exertion  in  returning  to  my  boat  by  Orwell  Park,  the 
night  1  left  your  father.  We  struck  across  the  country,  as  we 
heard  of  our  pursuers,  and  came  to  the  shore  greatly  heated  with 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  14 1 

our  run.  The  wind  was  fair  for  us,  and  I  had  nothing  else  to 
do  but  to  sit  still.  I  covered  myself  with  a  piece  of  damp  sail 
and  fell  asleep,  and  when  I  awoke  I  found  myself  as  stiff  as  a 
mast — I  could  not  move  a  limb.  But  I  will  take  care  of  myself 
for  your  sake,  Margaret,  for  the  future." 

By  this  time  they  had  just  arrived  at  the  vicarage  palings,  upon 
their  return,  where  the  angle  of  the  street  branched  off,  and  for 
a  moment  they  paused  to  take  the  farewell  salute  which  faithful 
lovers  ever  appreciate. 

They  little  thought  who  was  near  to  hear  their  last  parting 
words,  and  to  witness  that  love  which  they  thought  no  one  but 
themselves  beheld.  The  farewell  was  spoken,  and  Laud  departed. 
Margaret  stood  a  moment,  with  affectionate  heart  and  tearful  eye, 
to  watch  his  receding  form,  and  then,  turning  round  the  corner 
to  go  to  the  shop,  she  encountered  the  enraged  Mrs.  Leader.  She 
could  only  walk  on  in  passive  silence  through  the  village,  while  her 
aunt's  voice,  rising  higher  and  higher  as  she  approached  her  own 
domicile,  made  the  neighbours  peep  out  of  their  windows  to  learn 
the  cause  of  such  a  disturbance.  At  last  they  arrived  at  home, 
and  Mr.  Leader,  with  a  thousand  exaggerations,  was  informed  of 
his  niece's  atrocious  conduct. 

She  eyed  the  poor  girl  with  such  malignant  satisfaction,  as  if  she 
had  already  seen  her  condemned,  by  judge,  jury,  counsel,  and  all 
the  court.  Poor  Margaret !  she  had  not  attempted  to  speak  ;  she 
felt  for  her  uncle — she  felt  for  his  children — she  felt  for  her  lover ; 
but  for  herself,  nothing.  She  knew  her  own  heart,  and  felt  keenly 
the  cruelty  and  injustice  of  her  aunt's  spiteful  accusations  ;  but 
that  did  not  wound  her  so  much  as  to  see  the  crestfallen  distress 
of  the  master  of  that  cottage,  who,  but  a  short  time  before,  never 
addressed  her  but  in  thanks  or  praise. 

Margaret  sighed,  looked  at  her  uncle,  and  briefly  explained  her 
accidental  meeting  with  William  Laud. 

This  only  caused  Mrs.  Leader  to  break  out  into  a  fresh  passion. 
She  abused  her  husband,  abused  Margaret,  her  lover,  her  father, 
her  brother,  and  every  one  connected  with  her.  The  base  reflec- 
tions she  heard  cast  upon  her  family  roused  the  poor  girl's  indig- 
nation, and,  after  telling  the  enraged  woman  a  few  home  truths, 
expressed  her  determination  to  quit  the  house. 

"  I  shall  leave  you  now — yes,  before  another  hour  is  gone.  I 
shall  only  kiss  the  children,  pack  up  my  little  bundle,  and  then 


I42  THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

I  take  my  departure.  Uncle,  I  have  done  my  duty  by  you,  and  1 
sincerely  wish  you  happy.  I  have  had  nothing  of  you,  and  have 
nothing  to  leave  behind  me,  but  my  humble  blessing  for  yourself 
and  your  children.  Give  me  your  hand,  uncle  ;  let  us,  at  all 
events,  part  good  friends.  You  know  that  I  do  not  mind  the 
night.  A  journey  to  me  at  this  time,  under  these  circumstances, 
is  no  more  than  a  journey  would  be  by  day.  As  to  you,  Aunt 
Leader,  whether  you  shake  hands  with  me  or  not  must  rest  with 
your  own  self.  I  would  not  part  even  with  you  in  malice.  Good- 
bye, Aunt  Leader.     Good-night  ! " 

Mrs.  Leader  had  heard  enough  ;  she  had  met  with  a  spirit  which, 
when  roused,  was  equal  to  her  own  ;  and  though  she  looked  as  if 
she  could  have  dashed  the  poker  at  the  poor  girl  before  her,  she 
dared  not  stir  an  inch  :  the  fury  fell  back  from  her  seat,  and  went 
off  in  a  fit. 

Margaret  stayed  that  night,  but  not  another  day.  The  next 
morning  she  set  her  uncle's  breakfast  out,  saw  the  children  dressed 
and  sent  to  the  school,  and  then  went  upstairs  to  pack  up  her  own 
bundle.  Before  doing  so,  however,  the  Bible,  which  had  been 
given  her  by  John  Barry,  attracted  her  attention.  It  was  a  small 
clasped  book,  and,  from  being  unable  to  read  it,  she  had  never 
made  any  outward  parade  of  her  possession  of  it.  On  now  seeing 
it,  she  mechanically  unclasped  the  book,  and  in  the  first  page  there 
lay  a  £5  bank-note,  and  in  the  last  page  another  of  the  same  value. 
What  a  treasure  was  here  !  How  did  her  heart  bless  the  noble 
generosity  of  the  youth  who.  at  a  time  when  money  was  of  the 
greatest  value  to  him,  thus  sacrificed  a  great  share  of  his  riches 
to  the  welfare  of  one  who  could  never  personally  thank  him  for 
it! 

Margaret  had  made  up  her  mind,  however,  to  seek  a  situation 
for  herself  in  Ipswich.  She  remembered  the  kindness  of  the 
worthy  surgeon  who  had  attended  her  sister  in  her  childhood,  and 
poor  John  Barry  when  he  was  wounded,  and  she  resolved  to  seek 
his  aid.  With  a  full  heart,  she  carefully  replaced  the  notes  as 
she  found  them,  resolving  to  store  them  up  against  a  time  of  need. 
And,  with  more  consciousness  of  independence  than  she  had  ever 
before  felt,  she  packed  up  her  little  bundle,  and  went  to  take  leave 
of  her  uncle  and  aunt. 

With  five  shillings,  the  gift  of  her  uncle,  a  half-g'iinea,  the  gift 
of  her  brother  Oharles,  and   a  bundle,  not   a  very  weighty   one, 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHTOLE.  1 43 

Margaret  Catchpole  departed  from  Brandiston.  Bat,  fearing  her 
aunt's  displeasure,  and  that  she  would  send  strange  reports  to 
N  acton,  and  that  her  own  presence  under  her  father's  roof  would 
give  some  countenance  to  tluse  malicious  falsehoods,  she  deter- 
mined not  to  return  home,  but  to  take  the  road  to  Woodbridge. 

At  that  time,  Noller's  waggon,  from  Ipswich  to  Woodbridge, 
Wickham  Market,  and  Framlingham,  passed  her  upon  its  return  ; 
and  the  driver  asking  her  if  &he  would  like  to  ride,  she  gladly 
accepted  the  offer.  They  arrived  at  Ipswich  about  two  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon.  Margaret  determined  to  seek  a  place  immediately, 
and  for  that  purpose  brushed  the  dust  off  her  gown,  and  made 
herself  as  decent  as  her  poor  wardrobe  would  allow,  and  arrived 
at  the  door  of  Mr.  George  Stebbing,  under  very  different  cir- 
cumstances from  those  which  had  formerly  brought  her  to  the  same 
spot. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A   CHEERFUL    CHANGE. 


He  was  a  merry,  cheeiful  man,  the  active  surgeon,  who  lived  in 
the  tall,  red-bricked  house,  in  Orwell  Place.  His  practice  was 
good,  extending  from  the  best  families  in  the  town  and  neighbour- 
hood of  Ipswich,  to  that  which  is  always  the  most  benevolent  part 
of  a  surgeon's  duty,  the  dispensing  medicine  and  advice  to  the 
poor.  George  Stebbing  was  an  early  riser,  and  a  very  active  practi- 
tioner ;  he  was  skilful  and  attentive  ;  and  it  was  truly  said  of  hi  in, 
that  he  never  neglected  a  poor  patient  to  attend  a  rich  one.  He 
had  his  rounds  before  breakfast,  among  his  poorer  patients  ;  next 
his  town  practice  ;  and  his  country  visits  in  the  afternoon.  He 
generally  contrived  to  be  found  at  home  from  nine  to  ten  o'clock 
in  the  morning ;  and  from  two  to  three  in  the  afternoon,  always 
dining  at  one. 

There  was  one  passion,  if  it  may  be  so  called,  which,  at  certain 
seasons  of  the  year,  made  the  doctor  break  through  all  his  rules 
and  regulations,  and  to  which  he  so  willingly  gave  way,  as  to  cause 
him  serious  loss  of  practice  among  family  patients,  who  could  not 
make  allowances  for  his  neglect,—  namely,  a  passion  for  shooting. 


144  THE   HISTORY    OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

He  was  an  excellent  shot,  delighted  in  the  exercise,  and  enjoyed 
it  as  much  in  his  old  days  as  he  did  in  his  youth.  His  figure 
scarcely  ever  altered  through  life.  He  never  grew  corpulent,  never 
inactive  ;  but  retained  his  zest  for  his  gun,  with  a  steady  hand, 
to  a  good  old  age. 

But  for  this  passion  for  shooting,  the  doctor  might  have  secured 
to  himself  a  more  extensive  and  lucrative  practice.  It  certainly 
was  a  kind  of  passport  among  many  great  landed  proprietors,  who 
liked  his  shooting  and  his  society,  and  for  a  good  day's  shooting, 
come  it  when  it  might,  many  of  his  patients  were  neglected.  He 
was  of  a  very  generous  nature,  and  sometimes  felt  keenly  the 
reproaches  of  those  whom  for  the  sports  of  the  field  he  deserted  ; 
and  there  were  times  in  which  his  own  conscious  neglect  made 
him  sorrowful  ;  but  it  did  not  cure  him  of  his  favourite  propensity. 
At  all  other  times,  he  was  as  regular  as  a  well-cleaned  clock. 

Margaret  arrived  at  this  gentleman's  door,  and  was  shown  into 
the  surgery  just  as  he  was  preparing  to  go  into  the  country.  The 
surgery  was  a  lofty  room,  though  of  small  dimensions  ;  the  window 
looked  down  a  neatly  paved  area,  beside  the  offices  of  the  house  ; 
and  flower-stands,  filled  with  geraniums  and  other  green-house 
plants,  stood  against  the  side  of  the  wall  opposite  the  kitchen.  All 
was  neatness  within  and  without  the  walls  of  his  house. 

She  had  scarcely  been  seated  in  the  surgery  a  minute,  before  in 
came  the  merry  man,  with  his  cheerful  smile  and  ready  address. 
"  Well,  young  woman,  what's  the  matter  with  you,  eh  1  What  is 
it  ?  A  bad  tooth?  let  us  see — let  us  see.  It  can  be  nothing  else. 
You  look  the  picture  of  health  !     What's  the  matter?  " 

"  Nothing  is  the  matter,  sir,"  said  Margaret,  rising  and  curtsying. 

"  Then  what  do  you  want  with  the  doctor,  my  girl  ?  " 

"  I  have  come  to  ask  you,  sir,  if  you  could  help  me  to  a  place." 

"A  place!"  cried  the  doctor;  "why,  whom  do  you  take  me 
for  ?  Did  you  think  my  surgery  was  a  register-office  for  servants  ? 
What  have  I  to  do  with  places  ?     Who  on  earth  sent  you  to  me  ?  " 

"No  one  sent  me,  sir;  I  came  of  my  own  accord,  because  you 
are  the  only  person  that  I  know  in  Ipswich." 

11  Well,  they  say  a  great  many  more  people  know  Tom  Fool  than 
Tom  Fool  knows.  I  don't  recollect  ever  seeing  you  before.  I 
know  not  who  you  are  in  the  least." 

"  What,  sir  !  do  you  not  remember  when  you  lifted  me  off  the 
pony  at  your  door,  ever  so  many  years  ago,  and  called  me  a  brave 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  1 45 

little  girl,  and  told  me,  when  you  left  me  at  my  father's,  that  if 
ever  I  wanted  a  friend  I  should  find  one  in  you  ?  " 

"  "What  !  are  you  the  girl  that  made  the  pony  go  ?  Can  you  be 
Margaret  Catchpole,  the  heroine  of  Nacton  Turf  1  " 

"  I  am  Margaret,  sir  ;  I  left  my  uncle's,  at  Brandiston,  this 
morning,  and  am  come  to  Ipswich  in  search  of  a  place.  I  have 
lost  my  sister,  my  mother,  and  two  brothers,  and,  knowing  no  one 
in  Ipswich  but  you,  I  thought,  sir,  as  you  promised  to  help  me,  you 
would  not  be  offended  at  my  asking.  I  only  want  to  work  and  live 
without  being  burdensome  to  any  one." 

"  Well,  and  what  place  do  you  want,  my  girl  ?  " 
"  I  can  do  any  kind  of  plain  work,  sir,  from  the  cow-house  to  the 
nursery." 

"Nursery!  nursery!  do  you  know  anything  about  the  care  of 
children  ? '' 

"  I  am  very  partial  to  children,  sir,  and  children  are  very  fond 
of  me  ;  my  uncle  had  seven  little  ones,  and  only  me  to  look  after 
them  until  he  married  again." 

"  Humph  ! — Well,  go  into  my  kitchen,  my  girl  "—and  here  the 
kind-hearted  man  opened  his  door  and  introduced  her  to  his  cook. 
"  Sally,  this  is  the  girl  that  rode  the  pony  for  the  doctor,  see  and 
take  care  of  her.  Where  is  your  young  mistress  ?  "  But  suddenly 
turning  round  as  if  a  thought  struck  him,  he  said,  "  Margaret  ! 
Margaret !  my  girl,  stop  one  moment,  I  must  know  if  you  have 
quite  recovered  from  that  complaint  you  had  before  you  left  the 
Priory  Farm  }  " 

"  Dear  me,  sir,  I  never  was  ill  there." 

"  Oh  !    yes,  you  were,  Margaret  ;  if  you  remember,    I  had   to 
feel  your  pulse  and  prescribe  for  you  ;  your  heart  was  very  bad  1 " 
"  Oh  !  no,  sir,  I  hope  not." 

"  Let  me  ask  you  one  question,  Margaret— Have  you  done  with 
the  smuggler  ?  Because,  though  I  should  be  glad  to  serve  you,  I 
should  be  sorry  to  run  the  risk  of  introducing  bad  acquaintances 
into  any  respectable  family  where  I  might  recommend  you." 

This  was  another  terrible  blow  for  poor  Margaret,  and  how  to 
answer  it  she  knew  not;  she  remained  silent  and  abashed,  and 
the  worthy  surgeon  was  touched  much  more  by  her  silence  than  if 
she  had  spoken  ever  so  much  ;  it  told  him  at  once  the  state  of  the 
case. 

"  Well,  well,   my  girl,  I  see  how  it  is  ;  but  you  must  not  en- 


I46  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

courage  him  to  visit  you  when  you  are  at  service.  Go  !  go  1  I  will 
talk  to  you  another  time." 

And  Margaret  was  again  an  inmate  in  that  kind  man's  house, 
who  always  was  a  steady  and  sincere  friend  to  her  throughout 
her  eventful  career.  He  had  at  that  very  time  made  up  his  mind 
to  write  a  note  of  recommendation  to  a  lady  who  lived  at  the 
Cliff,  upon  the  banks  of  the  Orwell  ;  but  he  delayed  it  for  a  day  or 
two,  on  purpose  to  hear  what  report  his  own  domestic  gave  of  her. 
And  here  Margaret  remained  in  the  humblest  and  purest  enjoy- 
ment of  peace  and  quietness  that  she  had  felt  for  many  years. 

It  was  a  lovely  evening  in  the  latter  part  of  the  month  of  May, 
when  the  mackerel-boats  were  coming  up  the  Orwell,  being  unable 
to  reach  the  mouth  of  the  Noie,  that  old  Colson  (better  known  to 
the  reader  as  Robinson  Crusoe)  rowed  his  little  boat  up  to  the 
landing-place,  close  to  the  Cliff  Brewery,  and  startled  some  young 
children  who  were  watching  the  tiny  eels  playing  about  those 
large  dark  stones  which  formed  the  head  of  the  landing-place. 
Here  a  stream  of  fre&h  water,  gushing  from  beneath,  formed  the 
outlet  of  the  canal  stream  v/hich  turned  the  great  wheel  in  the 
brewery  of  John  Cobbold,  Esq. 

The  eels  from  the  river,  especially  the  young  ones,  used  to  be 
incessantly  playing  about  this  outlet,  striving  either  to  get  up 
into  the  fresh  water,  or  else  feeding  upon  the  animalculse  which 
came  from  the  canal,  and  tried  to  get  back  again  out  of  the  salt 
water. 

The  old  man  lifted  up  some  small  sand-dabs  for  the  children, 
all  alive  and  kicking,  and  gave  them  to  them,  with  which  they  soon 
bounded  up  the  Cliff  steps,  and  ran  joyously  to  a  lady,  who,  with 
two  gentlemen,  sat  sketching  under  the  lime-trees  which  then 
fronted  the  small  dwelling-house  adjoining  the  more  lofty  buildings 
of  the  brewery. 

The  lady  was  Mrs.  Cobbold,  and  the  two  gentlemen  were  her 
friends  and  both  eminent  artists  in  their  day.  One  had  already 
greatly  distinguished  himself  as  a  portrait-painter,  and  vied  with 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  in  his  own  particular  school  of  painting  :  this 
was  Gardiner,  a  distant  relative  of  the  lady.  He  was  a  singular 
old  gentleman,  in  every  way  a  talented  original  ;  his  family  groups, 
in  half  crayon,  half  water-colour,  gained  general  admiration  ;  and 
to  this  day  they  stand  the  test  of  years,  never  losing  their  peculiar 
freshness,  and  remain   as  spirited  as   on  the  first  day  they  were 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  1 47 

painted.  The  other  was  indeed  but  a  boy,  a  fine  intelligent  lad, 
with  handsome,  open  countenance,  beaming  with  all  the  ardour  of 
a  young  aspirant  for  fame  :  this  was  John  Constable,  who  was  then 
sketching  the  town  of  Ipswich  from  the  Cliff,  and  brushing  in  the 
tints  of  the  setting  sun,  and  receiving  those  early  praises  from  the 
lips  of  that  benevolent  and  talented  lady  which  became  a  stimulus 
to  his  exertions,  before  he  was  raised  to  the  eminence  of  a  first-rate 
landscape-painter. 

Gardiner  delighted  in  the  buoyant  group  of  children,  who,  with 
their  flapping  fish,  came  bounding  up  the  Cliff.  "  Look  here  !  look 
here  !  see  what  old  Robin  has  given  us." 

The  artist's  eyes  dilated  with  glee  as  he  quickly  noted  down  their 
jocund  faces  and  merry  antics  for  some  future  painting.  If  he 
had  experienced  pleasure  in  the  characters  of  James,  Thomas, 
George,  Elizabeth,  Ann,  and  Mary,  what  a  fine  master-figure  was 
now  added  to  the  group  in  the  person  of  old  Robin,  the  fisherman, 
who,  with  his  basket  of  mackerel  and  soles,  stood  behind  the 
children  in  front  of  the  happy  party  ! 

Gardiner's  picture  of  the  "  Fisherman's  Family"  was  taken  from 
this  group,  and  it  was  one  which  in  his  mature  years  gained  him 
much  celebrity. 

"  Well,  Robin,  what  fish  have  you  got  ?  "  said  the  lady,  "  and 
how  do  the  witches  treat  you  ? " 

"  As  to  the  first,  madam,  here  are  mackerel  and  soles  ;  as  to  the 
latter,  they  treat  me  scurvily." 

"What's  that?  what's  that?  "  said  Gardiner;  "what's  all  that 
about  the  witches  ?  " 

Old  Colson  looked  at  him  a  minute,  and  partly  believed  he 
was  a  brother  sufferer  ;  for  Gardiner  never  was  what  the  world 
has  since  denominated  a  dandy,  he  was  never  even  a  beau  ;  he  was 
careless  in  his  dress,  and  very  abrupt  in  his  address,— extremely 
clever,  and  extremely  eccentric. 

"Why,  this  it  is,"  said  the  old  fisherman,  "if  the  foul  fiend 
treats  you  as  he  does  me,  he  makes  us  both  such  hideous  objects 
that  nobody  can  bear  to  look  at  us." 

There  was  no  little  colour  in  the  artist's  face  at  this  moment  : 
he  had  met  with  a  light  and  shade,  an  odd  mixture  upon  his  palette 
not  easily  defined,  and  he  looked  himself  rather  vacant  upon  the 
fisherman. 

"  I  see  how  it  is,"  said  Robin  ;  "  they  have  been  at  work  upon 

TO 


148  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

you,  and  have  put  your  robes  out  of  order  ;  but  give  them  a  blast 
of  this  ram's  horn,  and  you  will  soon  get  rid  of  them." 

Here  the  old  man  presented  a  ram's  horn  to  the  astonished  artist. 

*'  What  does  the  man  mean,  Mrs.  Cobbold  ?  what  does  the  man 
mean  ?  " 

This  was  rather  a  delicate  point  to  answer  ;  but  the  little  shrewd 
Mary,  who  perfectly  well  knew  what  the  old  man  meant,  said  at 
once  with  the  most  perfect  innocence — 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Gardiner  !  Robin  means  that  you  look  so  dirty  aud 
shabby  that  you  must  be  bewitched." 

At  this  moment  a  servant  brought  a  note  to  the  lady,  which,  on 
opening,  she  read  as  follows  :  — 

"My  dear  Madam, — You  mentioned  to  me  some  time  since  that 
you  wanted  a  good  strong  girl  who  could  assist  in  the  double 
capacity  of  a  laundress  and  a  nursery-maid  ;  the  bearer  of  this  is 
Margaret  Catchpole,  whom  I  have  known  from  her  infancy.  My 
cook  tells  me  she  is  very  quick  at  learning,  and  very  handy  at 
any  work  that  may  be  required  of  her  ;  she  also  states  herself  to  be 
very  fond  of  children.  She  lived  servant-of-all-work  at  the  Priory 
Farm,  and  has  since  kept  her  uncle's  house,  where  she  had  the 
care  of  seven  young  children.  Mr.  Notcutt,  who  knew  her  when 
she  lived  at  service  at  Bealings,  speaks  highly  of  her  character. 
I  think  you  will  find  her  a  very  useful  servant ;  and  if  you  have 
not  engaged  one,  I  really  think  you  will  be  satisfied  with  this 
young  woman.      Wishing  that  such  may  be  the  case, 

"  Believe  me  to  remain, 
"  My  dear  madam, 
"  Yours  faithfully, 

"  George  Stebbing. 
"Orwell  Place,  May  25lh.  1793." 

As  Mrs.  Cobbold  opened  the  note,  the  artists  retired  ;  and  she 
told  the  footman  to  send  the  young  woman  round  to  the  front  of 
the  house,  and  she  would  speak  to  her  there.  She  then  kindly 
addressed  the  old  fisherman  : — 
I  (l  I  wish,  Robin,  I  could  find  a  charm  which  would  drive  all  these 
fiends  away  from  you  at  once,  that  you  might  become  a  believer 
in  a  more  blessed  agency  than  in  such  unhappy  beings.'' 

"  Ah  !  bless  you,  lady  !  bless  you  !     If  your  wish  could  but  be 
gratified,  T  should  soon  be  at  liberty;    but   it  will  never  be  so: 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  1 49 

they  have  taken  up  their  abode  with  me,  and  as  long  as  they  can 
torment  me,  they  will.  I  knew  last  night  that  there  would  be  a 
storm,  and  sure  enough,  there  was  one  ;  but  my  old  barque  rode  it 
out,  though  many  a  tighter  craft  went  to  the  bottom.  My  foes, 
though  they  love  to  punish  my  flesh,  will  not  let  me  perish." 

"That  is  but  a  vain  hope,  Robin,  which  will  one  day  deceive 
you  :  you  trust  too  much  to  your  crazy  barque  ;  and  to  a  no  less 
crazy  imagination  ;  and,  when  too  late,  you  will  own  your  self- 
delusion. 

His  benefactress  could  not  succeed  in  arguing  him  out  of  his 
belief,  and  had  just  told  him  to  leave  the  fish  at  the  back-door,  as 
Margaret  made  her  appearance  before  her  future  mistress. 

She  started  back  when  she  beheld  Robin,  and  again  thought  that 
some  evil  genius  had  determined  to  oppose  her  wherever  she  went. 

"Ah!  is  that  you,  Peggy?  It's  many  a  long  day  since  I've 
seen    you.     Have  the  fiends  played  you  any  more  tricks  ?  " 

Margaret  made  her  curtsey  to  the  lady,  but  dared  not  reply 
to  the  salutation  of  the  old  fisherman,  lest  he  should  betray  the 
secret  of  her  heart.     She  was  evidently  confused. 

"  You  need  not  be  so  proud  either,  young  woman,  as  to  forget 
a  friend  ;  but  you  are  like  the  rest  of  the  world  : — '  Those  whom 
we  first  serve  are  the  first  to  forget  us.'  Now,  to  my  mind,  you're 
a  fit  match  for  Will  Laud,  and  he's  about  as  ungracious  a  chap  as 
any  I  know." 

The  tear  started  into  Margaret's  eye,  and  she  could  not  utter  a 
word.  In  the  accents  of  kindness,  however,  the  lady  addressed 
the  trembling  girl. 

"You  must  not  mind  all  the  wanderings  of  old  Robin,  you 
will  be  better  acquainted  with  him  hereafter." 

"  And  so  will  you,  ma'am,  with  her  before  long.  The  foul  fiend 
has  long  dwelt  with  her  and  hers,  and  you'll  soon  find  that  out. 
I've  known  her  almost  as  long  as  I've  known  you,  ma'am  ;  and  if 
she's  a- coming  to  your  service,  why,  all  I  can  say  is,  there  will  be 
pretty  pranks  a-going  on  in  your  house." 

Here  the  poor  girl  could  refrain  no  longer  from  tears ;  she  sobbed 
as  if  her  heart  would  break,  and  the  ?eene  T2jnr^  man  commonly 
interested  the  benevolent  lady. 

"  What  has  Robin  known  of  you,  young  woman,  that  he  should 
speak  so  harshly  against  you  ?     How  have  you  offended  him  ? '' 

"I  never  offended  him,  ma'am— never  that  I  know  of  !     He  was 


I50  THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

very  kind  to  me,  and  once,  ma'am — once "  and  here  Margaret 

paused,  and  could  not  finish  her  sentence. 

Robin  now  quickly  saw  he  was  mistaken,  and  going  close  up  to 
the  girl,  he  said, — 

"I  ask  your  pardon,  Peggy  !  I  thought  you  were  proud — I  see 
how  it  is  ?  I  see  how  it  is  ! — forgive  me  !  forgive  me,  ma'am  ! 
She's  a  good  girl ;  ay,  she's  a  clever  girl !  I  thought  she  was  a 
bit  proud,  so  the  fiend  made  me  bark  at  her,  that's  all  ; "  and, 
making  his  bow,  he  went  with  his  basket  of  fish  to  the  back-door. 

The  lady  evidently  saw  there  was  a  mystery ;  but,  well  knowing 
the  sudden  changes  of  the  bewildered  mind  of  the  fisherman, 
although  she  always  found  a  shadow  of  truth  about  all  his  ravings, 
she  placed  no  faith  in  any  of  his  prognostications.  She  did  not 
again  question  Margaret  upon  that  subject,  but  spoke  to  her  about 
her  duties.  She  found  her  fully  sensible  of  what  she  might  have 
to  do,  and  quite  ready  to  undertake  the  place.  She  agreed  to 
give  her,  progressively  improving  wages,  and  told  her  that  as 
Mr.  Stebbing  had  given  her  a  recommendation,  she  should  try 
her.  Mrs.  Cobbold  desired  her  to  come  on  the  morrow,  and  wished 
her  good-evening. 

The  next  day  saw  Margaret  an  inmate  of  that  family  where  her 
name  will  never  be  forgotten  ;  where  she  spent  so  many  days  of 
real,  uninterrupted  happiness  ;  where  she  became  respected  by  her 
mistress  and  family,  and  was  a  very  great  favourite  with  all  her 
fellow-servants.  Margaret  came  to  her  new  place  with  a  good 
character  ;  with  youth,  health,  hope,  and  a  willing  mind  for  work. 
By  the  advice  of  the  doctor's  old  servant,  she  came  (by  means  of 
John  Barry's  generous  gift)  with  every  article  clean,  new,  and 
decent,  and  had  the  sum  of  six  pounds  left  for  a  nest-egg. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE       NEW     PLACE. 

There  is  no  class  of  persons  in  society  so  much  neglected  as 
domestic  servants,  none  who  are  placed  in  more  responsible 
stations,  to  whom  more  confidence  is  given,  and  from  whom  more 
is  expected  ;  yet  there  are  none  who  are  less  instructed,  except  in 
the  duties  of  their  stations,  and  even  these  they  have  to  learn  as 
they  can.     The  law  visits  no  one  with  severer  penalties  for  any 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  151 

dereliction  of  duty  ;  and  the  world  makes  fewer  allowances  for  their 
faults  than  for  those  of  any  other  class. 

The  excellent  lady  in  whose  service  Margaret  was   placed  was 
one  who  felt  this  truth,  and  took  every  opportunity  she  could  to 
improve  the  minds  of  all  who  came  under  her  roof.     She  was  one  of 
the  most  enlightened  of  her  sex,  with  a  mind  cultivated  to  the 
highest  degree,   and  acquainted  from  her  infancy  with  many  of 
the  leading  persons  of  the  day,  in  art,  literature,  and  science.     And 
she  was  not  less  domestic  than  enlightened.     The  writer  of  these 
pages  knew  her  well,  and  loved  her  dearly.     He  admired  her  with 
deep  and  reverential  love.     He  was  not  able,  indeed,  to  appreciate 
the  full  extent  of  her  benevolent  character,  till  years  had  snatched 
her  away,  and  left  him  "  never  to  look  upon  her  like  again."     This 
he  can  truly  say,  that,  in  the  course  of  twenty  years'  acquaintance, 
he  never  knew  what  it  was  to  have  a  dull  moment  in  her  company. 
Lest   any  may  think  this  is  saying  too   much,  let  some  of  those 
who  now  occupy  public  stations  of  importance,  and  some  of  whom 
were  her  domestic  servants,  say,  how  much  they  were  indebted  to 
her  instructions.     Let  some,  even  of  a  higher  and  more  independent 
class,  who  have  since  attained  the  pinnacle  of  their  professions,  tell 
how  much  they  were  indebted  to  the  first  encouraging  advice  of 
her,  who  saw  and  prized  their  talents,  and  rejoiced  in  their  develop- 
ment.     She   was  a  most  kind  benefactress  to  all  who  needed  her 
advice  or  assistance,  and  to  none  was  she  a  greater  friend,  and  by 
none  was  she  more  deeply  loved,  than  by  the  poor  girl  whom  she 
took  into  her  service,  as  a  sort  of  general  help  in  the   humblest 
station  in  her  family. 

At  the  Cliff  there  was  not  a  single  individual  in  whom  the 
mistress  did  not  feel  a  deep  interest.  None  were  beneath  her 
notice  ;  none  came  near  her  whom  she  did  not  strive  to  improve. 
Though  she  commanded  the  hearts  of  many  highly  distinguished 
persons  in  the  drawing-room,  she  commanded  the  affections  of  her 
family,  and  of  every  servant  under  her  roof.  Poor  Margaret 
appeared  to  her  an  object  of  peculiar  interest.  Ignorant  as  she 
found  her  in  letters,  and  in  many  things  relating  to  her  situation, 
there  was  in  her  a  capacity,  which  this  lady  discovered,  to  require 
nothing  but  instruction  to  perfect  it.  Readily  did  she  comprehend 
when  the  kindness  of  her  mistress  was  shown  in  condescending  to 
teach  her,  and  rapid  was  the  progress  she  made  in  everything 
explained  to  her. 


152  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

Margaret  had  a  difficult  situation  to  fulfil  even  in  the  household 
arrangements  of  this  excellent  lady  ;  for  she  was  under-nursemaid 
in  the  morning,  and  under- cook  in  the  evening  ;  two  very  different 
stations,  but  both  of  which  she  discharged  with  fidelity,  and  at 
length  rose  in  that  family  to  fill  the  head  place  in  both  stations  at 
different  periods. 

Her  mistress  had  married  a  gentleman  who  had  fourteen  children 
living  at  that  time,  and  she  had  every  prospect  of  seeing  the 
number  increase.  It  required  a  woman  of  energy  to  direct  the 
household  affairs  of  such  a  numerous  family,  as  well  as  a  woman 
of  method  and  management  in  the  nursery.  Well  did  Margaret 
second  the  work  which  the  head-nurse  had  in  hand.  No  one 
could  be  more  indefatigable  in  her  duties — none  more  constantly 
employed. 

It  was  Margaret's  especial  province  to  walk  out  with  the  children, 
to  carry  the  young  ones,  and  to  lead  now  and  then  an  elder  one. 
A  retired  and  pleasant  walk  it  was  at  the  back  of  the  Cliff  to 
Sawyer's  Farm,  either  along  the  river's  side  to  the  Grove,  or  Hog 
Island,  or  through  the  farmyard,  up  the  sandy  hill,  from  the  top 
of  which  Ipswich  and  its  environs  were  so  conspicuous.  In  all  the 
innocent  enjoyments  of  children,  Margaret  took  particular  delight. 
She  would  make  chains  of  dandelions,  whistles  of  cats'  tails  ;  collect 
lords  and  ladies,  string  ladies'  hair  ;  make  whips  of  rushes  for  the 
boys,  and  cradles  for  dolls  for  the  girls.  Her  eyes  were  ever 
watchful,  her  hands  ever  useful.  The  children  loved  her,  and 
bounded  to  her  with  pleasure,  whenever  the  order  was  given  for 
a  walk.  She  was  equally  dauntless  in  their  defence,  whether  it 
was  against  a  dog,  or  the  geese,  or  the  cattle  of  the  field,  or  the 
gipsy,  or  the  drunken  sailor. 

During  this  service,  an  occurrence  took  place  of  a  singularly 
providential  nature,  which  showed  the  sagacity  of  this  poor  girl, 
and  her  presence  of  mind  in  so  striking  a  light,  that  it  is  well 
worthy  to  be  here  recorded.  The  children  were  all  going  for  a 
walk,  and  Master  George  and  Master  Frederic  were  listening  at  a 
rat's  hole,  under  the  foundation  of  a  building,  where  the  workmen 
were  making  some  alterations,  and  had  taken  away  a  great  deal  of 
the  soil,  upon  one  side  of  the  brickwork.  As  Margaret  came  up 
with  some  half-dozen  of  the  young  fry,  the  boys  exultingly  called 
to  her  to  come  and  hear  the  old  rat  gnawing  something  in  the  hole. 

Margaret  approached,  and  with  that  natural  quickness  of  percep- 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  1 53 

tion  with  which  she  was  so  gifted,  saw  danger  in  the  situation  of 
the  children.  Listening  one  moment  at  the  hole  she  was  convinced 
that  the  creaking  sound  she  heard  did  not  proceed  from  a  rat. 
In  another  instant  she  seized  the  children  by  their  arms,  and 
exclaimed,  with  a  terror  that  communicated  itself  to  them  all, 
"  Come  away  !  come  away  !  that  wall  is  settling  !  "  Scarcely  had 
she  ran  with  the  children  half  a  dozen  yards  from  the  spot,  when 
down  came  the  wall  in  a  mass  of  ruin  that  must  have  buried  them 
all  beneath  it  but  for  the  providential  sagacity  of  this  young  girl. 
To  this  day  the  circumstance  is  remembered  by  the  parties 
interested  in  it,  and  is  looked  upon  as  the  interposition  of  their 
good  angel,  in  making  use  of  this  humble  instrument  for  the  pre- 
servation of  their  lives. 

Margaret,  by  this  time,  could  both  read  and  write  ;  for  the  lady, 
wrho  superintended  the  whole  management  of  the  nursery,  had 
her  regular  school-hours  in  the  morning  devoted  to  the  minutiae 
of  progressive  improvement.  It  was  at  one  of  these  morning 
lessons  that  she  discovered  Margaret's  abilities.  Hearing  the  chil- 
dren their  lessons  in  history,  and  examining  them  in  the  chron- 
ology of  the  kings  of  England,  she  was  surprised  to  hear  Margaret 
prompting  Miss  Sophia,  in  a  whisper,  when  the  child  was  at  a  loss 
for  the  right  date.  And  when  she  came  to  question  Margaret,  she 
found  that  this  poor  girl  had  been,  though  unknown  to  her,  her 
most  attentive  scholar.  This  induced  her  to  take  pains  with  her, 
and  to  let  her  be  a  participator  in  all  the  most  useful  branches  of  a 
nursery  education.  She  was  taught  to  read  and  write,  and  under- 
stand the  Bible  history  and  the  Gospel  scheme  of  redemption ;  in 
all  which  studies  she  became  as  wreli  informed  as  any  of  the 
children.     Soon  after  this,  she  rose  to  be  the  head  nursemaid. 

As  the  winter  came  on,  the  walks  became  more  circumscribed  ; 
and  though  she  occasionally  saw  the  old  fisherman,  with  his  basket 
of  soles  and  plaice,  yet  from  him  she  could  gather  no  tidings  of 
her  lover,  good  or  bad.  To  hear  nothing  may  be  better  than  to 
hear  bad  tidings  ;  but  some  may  even  think  that  bad  news  is  better 
than  none  at  all.  The  certain  knowledge  of  any  catastrophe,  if 
it  has  taken  place,  at  ever  so  great  a  distance,  is  always  more 
satisfactory  and  consoling  than  years  of  agonizing  suspense. 

Perhaps  some  such  ideas  might  have  passed  in  Margaret's  mind  ; 
but  she  had  been  so  accustomed  to  hear  nothing  that  was  good 
of  her  lover,   that  she  began  to  construe   the   long  interregnum 


154  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

of  his  non-appearance  into  the  hope  of  some  permanent  amend- 
ment. 

The  Orwell,  at  the  period  of  our  narrative,  and  during  the  winter 
season,  was  famous  for  its  wild-fowl.  At  some  particular  times, 
when  the  decoy-ponds  around  were  frozen  over,  the  birds  used  to 
come  into  the  channel  of  the  river  in  prodigious  flights,  covering 
hundreds  of  acres  of  water  with  their  varieties  of  plumage.  Millions 
of  black  coot  used  to  darken  the  waves,  whilst  the  duck  and  the 
mallard,  the  diver,  the  pin-tail,  the  bar-goose,  and  even  the  wild 
swan,  used  to  be  seen  in  such  numbers,  as  in  the  present  day  would 
seem  to  be  incredible.  Those,  however,  who  can  remember  this 
river  only  lifty  years  ago  will  fully  corroborate  this  account.  Some 
live  in  Ipswich,  at  this  day,  who  can  well  remember  the  time  in 
which  they  have  made  dreadful  havoc  among  the  feathered  tribes 
of  the  river.  Now  and  then  a  solitary  flight  may  here  and  there 
be  seen  visiting  the  river  in  the  evening,  and  departing  with  the 
dawn.  Since  the  port  of  Ipswich  has  so  rapidly  increased  its 
shipping,  the  traffic  of  winter,  as  well  as  summer,  has  been  so 
constant,  that  the  birds  have  sought  some  quieter  feeding-ground 
than  the  ooze  of  the  Orwell. 

It  was  at  the  time  when  these  birds  were  most  frequent,  that  the 
young  fowlers  of  the  port  used  to  have  extraordinary  tales  to  tell 
of  the  numbers  they  had  killed,  and  the  escapes  and  adventures 
they  had  met  Avith  in  the  pursuit.  One  of  Mr.  Cobbold's  younger 
sons  had  a  great  penchant  for  this  sport,  and,  though  quite  a  lad, 
would  venture  upon  the  most  hardy  enterprises  with  the  weather- 
beaten  sailors,  who  had  been  long  accustomed  to  the  river.  He 
was  a  good  shot,  too,  for  a  boy,  and  would  bring  home  many  a 
duck  and  mallard  as  the  fruits  of  his  own  excursions. 

It  was  about  four  o'clock,  one  winter  evening,  when  this  young 
gentleman  was  seen  descending  the  steps  of  the  Cliff,  with  the  oars 
over  his  shoulder,  and  his  gun  in  Ids  hand.  He  looked  at  the 
cljudy  sky,  and  thought  he  should  have  goo  J  sport  upon  the  river 
before  the  morning.  His  sisters,  Harriet  and  Sophia,  saw  him 
stealing  down  the  Cliff,  and  he  requested  of  them  not  to  take  any 
notice  of  his  absence.  He  unlocked  his  boat,  and  shoved  off  into 
the  channel  alone,  rejoicing  in  the  thought  of  the  spolla  opima 
he  should  expose  next  morning  at  the  breakfast-table. 

At  tea-time,  all  the  numerous  party  seated  themselves  round  the 
table,  before  piles  of  hot  toast  and   bread  and  butter;   and  the 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  1 55 

venerated  father  came  from  his  own  private  room  to  take  his  seat 
with  his  affectionate  wife  and  children.  lie  cast  his  eye  upon  the 
party,  and  looked  round  the  room,  evidently  missing  one  of  hi3 
children.  "  Where's  William  ?  "  he  inquired.  The  sisters,  Harriet 
and  Sophia,  began  to  titter.  "  Where's  William  1  "  again  asked  tho 
anxious  parent  ;  and  the  lady,  who  had  been  reading  some  new 
book,  which  had  absorbed  her  attention,  had  not  until  then  missed 
the  boy. 

Mr.  Parkinson,  the  confidential  clerk,  a  distant  relative,  replied, 
"  Master  William  has  gone  out  in  his  boat  to  shoot  wild  fowl." 

"  What !  on  such  a  night  as  this  ?     How  long  since  ( " 

"  Two  hours  or  more,  sir." 

The  worthy  parent  rose  from  his  seat,  summoned  the  clerk  to 
follow  him  immediately,  and,  with  a  fearful  expression  of  coun- 
tenance, which  communicated  terror  to  the  whole  party,  he  said, 
"  Depend  upon  it,  the  child  is  lost  !  " 

It  was  a  night  on  which  no  reasonable  man  -would  have  suffered 
even  the  stoutest  and  strongest  sailor  to  go  down  the  river  for  such 
a  purpose.  The  tide  was  running  out  fast,  and  the  ice  was  floating 
down  in  great  masses,  enough  to  stave  a  stout  boat.  A  piercing 
sleet,  the  forerunner  of  a  snow-storm,  drifted  along  with  the  wind* 
Altogether  it  was  as  dismal  as  darkness  and  the  foreboding  anxiety 
of  a  fond  parent's  heart  could  make  it.  Yet  Master  William,  a 
mere  stripling,  was  upon  the  waters,  in  a  boat  which  required  at 
least  two  stout  men  to  manage  her,  and  at  the  mercy  of  the  storm. 
Had  not  his  father  by  mere  chance  missed  him,  and  made  inquiries 
about  him,  he  would  not  have  been  heard  of  till  the  next  morning, 
and  then  they  would  have  spoken  of  his  death.  As  it  was,  the 
sequel  will  show  how  nearly  that  event  came  to  pass. 

The  brewhouso  men  were  summoned,  two  stout  fellows,  who 
were  put  into  the  small  boat,  and  it  then  came  out  that  Master 
William  had  taken  the  oars  belonging  to  the  little  boat,  to  manage 
a  great,  heavy  craft  that  was  large  enough  to  hold  a  dozen 
men. 

Mr.  Cobbold  and  his  clerk  went  along  the  shore,  whilst  the  two 
men  in  the  skiff,  with  great  oars,  shoved  along  the  edge  of  the 
channel.  Occasionally  the  parties  communicated  by  voice,  when 
the  lull  of  the  waves  and  winds  permitted  them  to  do  so  ;  but  no 
tidings  of  the  lost  boy  could  be  obtained. 

WThat  agony  did  that  truly  good  father  endure,  yet  how  mild  was 


156  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

his  censure  of  those  who  ought  to  have  prevented  such  a  lad 
incurring  such  danger  ! 

In  the  midst  of  these  anxieties,  there  was  one  who  shared  them 
with  as  much  earnestness  as  if  she  had  been  the  mother  of  the 
child  ;  and  this  was  Margaret  Catchpole.  No  weather,  no  winds, 
no  commands  of  her  master's,  could  overrule  that  determined 
activity  of  mind  which  this  girl  possessed,  to  lend  a  helping  hand 
in  time  of  danger.  She  had  thrown  her  cloak  over  her  head,  and 
followed  her  master  with  the  hope  that  she  might  be  of  some 
service. 

The  party  on  the  shore  could  no  longer  hear  even  the  voices 
of  those  who  were  in  the  boat,  as  the  channel  took  them  round 
the  bed  of  ooze  to  the  opposite  shore.  Still  did  they  pursue  their 
course,  calling  aloud,  and  stopping  to  listen  for  some  faint  sound 
in  reply.  Nothing  answered  their  anxious  call  but  the  cold  moaning 
of  the  wintry  wind.  They  stretched  their  eyes  in  vain  ;  they  could 
see  nothing  :  and  they  had  walked  miles  along  the  shore,  passing 
by  the  Grove,  Hog  Island  and  the  Long  Reach,  until  they  came  to 
Downham  Reach.  No  soul  had  they  met,  nor  had  any  sound,  save 
the  whistling  of  the  curlew  and  the  winds,  greeted  their  ears.  The 
anxious  father,  down  whose  cheeks  tears  began  to  steal  and  to 
stiffen  with  the  frost,  gave  his  dear  son  up  for  lost.  He  had  lived 
so  long  by  the  river,  and  knew  so  well  its  dangers,  that  it  seemed 
to  him  an  impossibility  he  should  be  saved  ;  and  he  turned  round 
just  by  the  opening  to  the  Priory  Farm,  and  said  to  his  clerk, 
"We  must  give  it  up  ;"  when  Margaret  said,  "  CWi,  no,  sir,  not 
yet ;  pray  do  not  give  it  up  yet  !  Let  us  go  on  farther  !  Do 
not  go  home  yet." 

Thus  urged,  her  master  turned  again  to  pursue  the  search,  and 
she  followed  in  his  path. 

About  a  hundred  yards  onward,  under  the  shade  of  the  wood, 
they  met  a  man. 

"  Who  goes  there  1 "  was  the  question  of  the  anxious  father. 

"  What's  that  to  you  ?  "  was  the  rough  uncourteous  reply, 
strangely  grating  to  the  father's  heart  at  such  a  moment. 

In  those  rough  sounds  Margaret  recognised  Will  Laud's  voice. 
She  sprang  forward,  exclaiming,  to  the  no  small  astonishment  of 
her  master,  "  Oh,  William  !  Mr.  Cobbold  has  lost  his  son  !  Do 
lcnJ  a  hand  to  find  him." 

It  is  needless  to  dwell  upon  the  mutual  surprise  of  both  parties 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  157 

at  such  a  rencontre.  Laud  was  equally  astonished  at  Margaret's 
presence  at  such  a  time,  and  Margaret  herself  felt  an  indescribable 
hope  that  her  lover  might  render  some  effectual  service. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir,"  said  Laud,  "  but  I  did  not  know  you." 

"  My  son  went  down  the  river  in  a  boat  some  three  or  four 
hours  since,  and  I  fear  he  is  lost,"  said  Mr.  Cobbold. 

"  I  came  up  the  river  as  far  as  I  could,  and  have  seen  no  boat. 
The  floats  of  ice  were  so  troublesome,  that  I  resolved  to  come 
ashore,  and  walk  to  Ipswich.  Had  there  been  a  boat  between 
Harwich  and  the  Nacton  shore,  I  must  have  seen  it.  I  landed 
close  by  Cowhall,  and  I  know  there  was  no  boat  on  the  river,  at 
least  so  far." 

At  that  moment  they  thought  they  heard  some  one  call.  They 
listened,  and  plainly  heard  the  men  hallooing  from  the  boat. 

"  Ahoy  !  ahoy  !  "  called  out  Will  Laud. 

They  then  listened  again,  and  recognised  the  voice  of  Richard 
Lee,  one  of  the  brewing-men,  who  called  out, — 

"  We  have  found  the  boat,  but  no  one  in  her." 

'•Ay,  sir,"  said  Will  Laud,  "then  the  young  gentleman  has 
got  ashore  ! " 

"  I  fear  not  !  "  said  the  father  ;   "  I  fear  he  is  lost !  " 

Laud  feared  the  same,  when  he  heard  that  the  young  lad  had 
taken  no  mud-splashers  with  him.  "But,"  he  added,  "if  the 
youth  knew  the  river,  he  would  get  out  of  his  boat,  and  walk  by 
the  edge  of  the  channel  till  he  came  to  this  hardware,  and  then  he 
might  get  ashore." 

"  What  is  that  dark  spot  yonder,  by  the  edge  of  the  water?" 
Baid  Margaret,  as  she  stooped  down  to  let  her  eye  glance  along 
the  dark  level  line  of  the  mud. 

"It  is  only  one  of  the  buoys,"  said  the  father,  "  such  as  they 
moor  the  ships  to  in  the  reach." 

"There  is  no  buoy  in  that  part  of  the  river,"  said  Will. 
"Margaret  sees  something,  and  so  do  I  now.  I  don't  know  what 
it  is,  but  I  soon  will  though." 

And  without  more  ado,  he  stepped  on  to  the  mud  and  was  soon 
upon  all-fours,  creaping  along,  and  dragging  his  body  over  the 
softest  places  of  the  ooze,  where  he  must  have  sunk  into  the  mud 
up  to  his  waist,  if  he  had  kept  an  erect  posture.  As  he  advanced, 
he  evidently  Baw  something  lying  close  to  the  water's  edge,  and, 
after  great  toil,  he  came  up  to  it.     True  enough  he  found  it  to  be 


153  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

the  stiff  body  of  the  poor  youth  they  had  been  in  search  of. 
Lifting  himself  up,  he  called  aloud,  "  Ahoy  !  ahoy  !  Margaret, 
you  aro  right ; "  words  of  such  joy  as  were  never  forgotten  in 
after  years  by  any  of  that  party. 

Laud  lost  no  time  in  hoisting  the  poor  boy  on  his  back,  and, 
tying  his  stiff  hands  round  his  own  neck  with  his  handkerchief,  he 
crept  upon  the  mud  again  toward  that  shore  where  stood  those 
anxious  friends  awaiting  his  approach.  The  boy  was,  to  all 
appearance,  stiff  and  lifeless.  The  hair  of  his  head  was  one 
matted  mass  of  ice  and  mud  ;  hi3  limb3  were  stiff  and  frozen  ;  one 
leg  seemed  like  a  log  of  hard  wood,  the  other  they  could  bend  a 
little.  He  had  been  up  to  his  neck  in  the  mud,  and  had  evidently 
been  overcome  with  the  exertion  of  extricating  himself.  His 
clothes  were  drawn  off  his  back,  and  had  been  used  as  mud- 
splashers,  until  exhausted  nature  could  make  no  further  effort, 
and  he  had  sunk,  unconscious,  upon  the  ooze.  Death  seemed  to 
have  done  his  work. 

The  only  plan  now  was  to  get  him  home  as  soon  as  they  could. 
Laud  soon  constructed  a  carriage  for  him,  of  a  hurdle,  upon 
which  he  laid  his  own  jacket,  the  father's  great-coat,  and  over  him 
he  threw  Margaret's  cloak.  Each  of  the  four  persons  taking  a 
corner  of  the  hurdle  upon  their  shoulders,  they  made  their  way, 
as  fast  as  possible,  along  the  shore.  In  this  way  they  proceeded  at 
a  good  round  pace,  until  they  reached  the  Grove-side,  where  they 
met  the  other  servants,  coming  in  company  with  tho  two  brew- 
house-men,  with  blankets  and  brandy,  in  case  Muster  William 
should  be  found.  Their  arrival  was  very  opportune,  as  it  enabled 
the  exhausted  party  to  transfer  their  burden  to  the  new  comers. 
Mr.  Cobbold  expressed  his  gratitude  to  Laud,  and  asked  him  to 
come  on  to  the  Cliff,  and  rest  himself  that  night,  and  he  would 
endeavour  to  repay  him  in  the  morning. 

1  "  I  thank  you,  sir,"  said  Laud  ;  "  I  was  coming  to  see  Margaret 
and  if  you  would  only  grant  me  a  word  or  two  with  her,  it  is  all 
the  favour  I  ask." 

"  As  many  as  you  please,  my  man  ;  but  it  would  be  better  for 
her  and  3Tou,  too,  to  be  at  the  kitchen  fire  such  a  night  as  this* 
than  to  be  talking  upon  the  banks  of  the  Orwell." 

Laud  seemed  to  hesitate  ;  at  last  he  said,  "  Well,  sir,  I  will 
come." 

Soon  afterwards  the  thoughtful  Margaret  said  to  Mr.  Cobbold, 


THE    H7ST0RY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  159 

11  Had  I  not  better  run  forward,  sir,  and  prepare  the  slipper-bath, 
and  get  the  fire  lit  in  the  bedroom,  and  have  warm  blankets  ready, 
and  send  off  for  Dr.  Stebbing  ?  " 

"  Right,  Margaret,  right?"  washer  master's  reply;  "run,  my 
girl,  run  !  It  will  be  good  for  you,  too.  We  shall  soon  follow 
you." 

On  went  the  damsel,  and  soon  passed  the  men  carrying  their 
young  master,  and  was  the  first  who  brought  the  joyful  tidings 
that  Master  William  was  found.  In  all  her  plans,  however,  she 
was  anticipated  by  her  ever-thoughtful  mistress.  The  an,ber  room 
was  prepared,  as  being  the  quietest  in  the  house.  The  bath,  the 
hot  water,  the  salt  to  rub  his  benumbed  limbs,  were  all  ready  ; 
for  it  was  concluded,  that  if  he  was  found,  he  would  be  in  such  a 
state  of  paralysation,  from  the  effects  of  the  weather,  as  would 
make  it  a  work  of  time  to  recover  him.  The  boy  was  sent  off 
immediately  for  Mr.  Stebbing.  The  whole  family  were  in  a  state 
of  hushed  and  whispering  anxiety.  The  two  sisters,  especially, 
who  had  seen  their  brother  depart,  and  had  not  spoken  a  word 
about  it,  were  deeply  bewailing  their  own  faults.  In  short,  all  was 
anxiety,  all  was  expectation,  almost  breathless  suspense.  Mar- 
garets description  to  her  mistress  was  clear,  simple,  and  concise. 
Her  meeting  with  a  sailor,  whom  she  knew  when  she  lived  at  Priory 
Farm,  and  his  acquaintance  with  all  the  buoys  on  the  river,  all 
seemed  natural  and  providential.  She  gave  orders  immediately  for 
a  bed  to  be  prepared  in  the  coachman's  room  for  the  sailor,  to 
whose  exertions  they  were  so  indebted  for  the  restoration  of  the 
child,  dead  or  alive,  to  his  affectionate  parents. 

Voices  were  soon  heard  coming  up  the  road  from  the  shrubbery, 
and  the  first  who  entered  the  house  was  the  father,  supporting  the 
head,  whilst  the  others  raised  the  body  of  the  poor  boy.  Every 
exertion  was  now  used,  but  for  some  time  no  symptoms  of  life 
could  be  observed  in  him.  The  doctor  arrived,  and  he  perfectly 
approved  of  the  steps  which  had  been  taken.  He  opened  a  vein, 
from  which  the  smallest  drop  of  blood  exuded.  This  he  counted  a 
good  symptom.  He  then  ordered  a  bath,  at  first  merely  tepid,  and 
by  degrees  made  warmer.  The  blood  began  to  flow  a  little  faster 
from  the  arm,  and  the  doctor  felt  increased  hope  that  the  vital 
functions  were  not  extinct.  With  joy  lie  noticed  the  beginning  of 
a  gentle  pulsation  of  the  heart,  and  a  few  minutes  afterwards  of 
the  wrist,  and  pointed  out  these  favourable  symptoms  to  the  anxious 


l6o  THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCH  POLE. 

parents.  A  little  brandy  was  now  forced  into  the  throat.  The 
lips,  which  had  hitherto  been  livid  as  death,  began  to  show  a  slight 
change.  At  length,  in  the  midst  cf  anxious  exertions,  the  chest 
began  to  heave,  and  the  lungs  to  obtain  a  little  play  ;  a  sort  of 
bubbling  sound  became  audible  from  the  throat  ;  and,  shortly 
afterwards,  a  moan,  and  then  the  eyelids  half  unclosed,  though 
with  no  consciousness  of  sight.  Convulsive  shudders  began  to 
creep  over  the  frame — an  indication  that  a  warmer  bath  would  be 
judicious.  This  was  soon  effected.  As  the  warmth  circulated 
through  the  veins,  the  hands  began  to  move,  the  eyes  to  open 
wider,  and  to  wander  wildly  over  the  space  between  them.  At 
length  they  seemed  to  rest  upon  the  face  of  Margaret,  who  stood 
at  the  foot  of  the  bath,  and  down  whose  cheeks  tears  of  hope 
literally  chased  each  other.  A  faint  smile  was  seen  to  play  upon 
his  lips,  which  told  that  recognition  was  returning.  He  was  then 
removed  from  the  warm  bath  to  his  warm  bed. 

An  hour  afterwards,  and  their  unwearied  exertions  were  rewarded 
with  hearing  Master  William  pronounce  the  name  of  "Margaret." 
Though  so  weak  that  he  could  not  lift  his  hand,  yet  his  tongue 
whispered  her  name,  as  if  he  felt  she  had  been  his  preserver. 

He  shortly  afterwards  interchanged  smiles  with  the  doctor  and 
his  sisters,  and  presently  afterwards,  with  his  father's  hand  clasped 
in  his,  he  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER  XVL 

BRIGHT   HOPES. 


It  is  not  surprising  that  Laud,  as  he  stood  by  the  kitchen-fire, 
and  scraped  off  the  mud,  a  mixture  of  clay,  weeds,  and  samphire, 
which  were  clotted  upon  his  coarse  trousers,  should  be  considered 
by  the  tenants  of  that  park  of  the  house  as  a  person  worthy  of  all 
admiration.  He  had  signalized  himself  in  more  than  one  pair  of 
eyes.  The  master  of  the  family  and  the  head  clerk  had  beheld  his 
prowess,  and  had  spoken  most  highly  of  him.  They  had  given 
orders  that  whatever  he  required  should  be  furnished  for  him.  No 
wonder,  then,  that  in  Tom's,  John's,  or  Sally's  eyes,  he  should 
shine  with  such  increased  lustre.     In  Margaret's  he  was  beheld  with 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  l6l 

those  feelings  of  love,  and  hope,  and  joy,  which  anticipated  rapid 
improvement  after  long  drawbacks,  and  she  saw  the  object  of  her 
attachment  at  the  most  happy  and  propitious  moment  of  her  exis- 
tence. The  joy  of  that  evening  was  unalloyed.  Master  William 
was  recovering.  The  grateful  father  made  Will  and  all  his  servants 
enjoy  a  hearty  supper  together,  before  they  retired  to  rest,  and 
took  care  the  social  glass  was  not  wanting,  to  make  them  as 
comfortable  as  possible. 

The  whole  establishment  sat  around  the  well-spread  table  before 
a  cheerfully  blazing  fire,  and  were  descanting  upon  the  dangers 
of  the  night  and  the  perils  which  Mr.  William  must  have  encoun- 
tered.    At  this  moment  the  doctor  entered. 

His  curiosity  had  been  excited  by  the  account  he  had  heard  of 
Will  Laud.  He  easily  distinguished  that  dark  swarthy  being,  with 
his  blue  jacket,  changed,  by  the  drying  of  the  mud  upon  it,  to 
a  kind  of  dun  or  fawn-colour.  His  black  hair  hung  down  over  his 
shaggy  brow  with  his  long  man-of-war  pigtail ;  and  his  whiskers, 
scarcely  distinguishable  from  his  black  beard,  fulfilled  the  idea 
of  the  weather-beaten  sailor  which  the  doctor  had  previously 
entertained.  He  was  fully  satisfied  in  his  own  mind  with  what  he 
saw.  He  came,  he  said,  to  report  to  Laud  the  state  of  his  patient  ; 
and  after  asking  him  a  few  questions,  and  making  some  remarks 
upon  his  bravery,  he  wished  them  all  a  good-night,  and  returned 
to  the  parlour,  to  encounter  the  entertaining  queries  of  the  intelli- 
gent family  at  the  Cliff. 

His  report  brought  them  another  visitor.  The  door  again 
opened,  and  their  mistress  stood  before  her  servants.  They  all 
rose  as  she  entered,  and  Laud  above  the  rest  ;  but  whether  from 
the  strangeness  of  his  situation,  or  from  the  belief  that  the  lady  was 
about  to  speak  to  him,  the  moment  that  his  eye  met  that  intellectual 
and  penetrating  glance  of  inquiry,  it  became  fixed  upon  the  ground. 
The  voice  of  thanks  reached  him,  as  well  as  the  words  of  praise. 
If  they  did  not  gratify  him,  they  did  at  least  the  heart  of  the  poor 
girl  who  stood  close  by  him.  She  looked  in  her  mistress's  face,  and 
in  her  heart  blessed  her  for  her  kindness. 

"  Can  we  be  of  any  service  to  you,  young  man  1 "  said  the  lady. 
u  We  are  anxious  to  prove  ourselves  grateful  to  you  :  and  in  any 
way  that  you  may  claim  our  future  service,  you  will  find  ns  ready 
to  repay  you.  As  an  immediate  help,  Mr.  Col -bold  sends  you 
tiiis  guinea,  an  earnest  of  some  future  recompense." 


1 62  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

"  Thank  you,  ma'am  !  Let  Margaret  have  the  guinea,  and  the 
thanks  too  ;  for  she  first  discovered  the  young  gentleman." 

This  was  spoken  by  Laud  without  looking  at  the  lady,  or  once 
lifting  up  his  eyes.  Was  it  timidity,  or  was  it  shame  ?  Perhaps 
Laud  had  never  been  interrogated  in  the  presence  of  a  lady  before 
that  time. 

lie  was  truly  relieved,  when  Mrs.  Cobbold,  hoping,  as  she  said, 
that  he  had  been  well  taken  care  of,  and  again  thanking  him  for  his 
assistance,  wished  him  a  good  night's  rest,  and  took  her  departure. 

The  opinion  of  the  parlour  was  not  so  favourable  to  Laud  as  that 
of  the  kitchen,  as  the  character  of  the  bold  smuggler  was  estimated 
very  differently  in  each  place.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cobbold,  however, 
were  not  aware  that  Laud  was  in  the  British  navy,  having  been 
seized  in  his  boat  by  a  pressgang,  and  been  bound  to  serve  his 
majesty  three  years  on  board  the  Briton  man-of-war,  then  cruising 
;>ff  the  coast  of  Holland. 

Such  was  the  want  of  British  seamen  just  at  this  period  of  the 
breaking-out  of  the  long  war,  that  many  smugglers  received  not 
only  their  pardon,  but  good  pay  for  joining  the  navy  ;  and  even 
those  taken  by  the  pressgang  were  only  punished,  if  it  may  be 
termed  so,  by  a  three-years'  well-paid  service.  Laud  had  been  thus 
taken,  and  had  been  so  well  received  on  board,  that  his  captain,  on 
the  night  in  question,  had  granted  him  permission  to  come  up  to 
Ipswich.  He  had  offered  him  a  crew,  but  Laud  said  he  knew  the 
river,  and  would  rather  go  alone,  if  the  captain  would  only  lend 
him  one  of  the  small  boats  and  a  pair  of  oars.  He  promised  to  be 
on  board  again  the  next  day.  The  request  was  granted  ;  for  the 
captain  was  pleased  with  Laud's  confession  of  his  object  in  under- 
taking to  go  alone — so,  in  spite  of  wind  and  weather,  ice  and  snow, 
he  had  rowed  himself  up  the  river  Orwell  as  far  as  Nacton  Creek. 

These  facts  Will  had  already  communicated  to  Margaret,  who, 
rejoicing  in  his  present  honourable  position,  overlooked  the  dangers 
of  a  three-years'  service  in  defence  of  his  country.  She  felt  more 
proud  of  his  presence  that  night  at  the  Cliff  than  she  had  ever 
before  done  since  the  day  of  his  first  entrance  into  her  father's 
cottage.  She  did  not  indeed  experience  that  thrilling  warmth  of 
devotion  which  she  once  felt  when  he  visited  her  on  the  shores  of 
Downham  Reach  ;  but  love,  through  all  its  shocks,  was  much  more 
firm  and  really  hopeful  than  even  at  that  enthusiastic  period. 

Though  Margaret  became   acquainted   with   the  fact  of  Laud's 


THE   HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHrOLE.  1 63 

admission  into  the  British  navy,  and  he  spoke  openly  in  the  kitchen 
of  his  ship  and  her  commander,  yet  these  things  were  unknown  in 
the  parlour,  where,  as  has  just  been  stated,  his  personal  appear- 
ance and  character  stood  at  a  heavy  discount.  In  the  kitchen  he 
was  a  hero,  in  the  parlour  a  desperado. 

The  doctor  found  Master  William  in  a  sound  and  apparently 
refreshing  sleep  ;  and  retired  to  a  couch  prepared  for  himself  in 
an  adjoining  room,  in  case  his  services  might  be  required  in  the 
night.  The  servants  soon  after  parted  for  their  respective  dormi- 
tories, and  Laud  took  leave  of  Margaret  for  the  night. 

It  is  scarcely  possible  to  believe  that  Margaret,  after  all  her 
fatigues  and  anxieties,  should  have  refused  to  retire  to  her  room. 
She  actually  begged  permission  to  sit  up  all  night  with  Master 
William.  Vain  were  all  attempts  at  persuasion.  She  said  she  knew 
that  if  she  went  to  bed  she  could  not  sleep,  and  as  she  begged  so 
hard  to  be  permitted  to  sit  up,  the  request  was  granted. 

Hope  is  a  sweet  comforter  to  an  anxious  heart,  and  presented  a 

vision  of  future  bliss   to   the   wakeful   spirit  of   the   maid,  which 

afforded  her  occupation  for  the  night,  presenting  to  her  the  prospect 

of  day  to  come,  when  Laud  should  obtain  an  honourable  discharge 

from  his  country's  service,  where  he  was  now  numbered  among  the 

bold,  the  brave,  and  the  free,  and  in  which  the  same  Providence 

which   had  preserved  him  to  perform  the  good  act  of  that  night 

would,  she  hoped,  still  preserve  him  for  many  more  good  deeds.     In 

pleasant  reflections  the  night  passed  away  ;  nor  was  there  one  in 

that  family  who  did  not  join  in  the  general  thanksgiving  to  God 

for  the  signal  preservation  of  the  youth,  who  was  wrapped  in  a 

profound  and  refreshing  sleep,  watched  by  the  ever-constant  and 

faithful  Margaret.     The.  tempest  of  the  night  had  swept  along,  and 

was  succeeded  by  a  calm  and  glorious  sunrising,  which  shone  upon 

the  glittering  fields  of  snow.     The  fir-trees  were  weighed  down  with 

.the  weight  of  the  ice  and  snow  lodged  upon  their  branches,  wmilst 

-the  beams  of  the  sun  made  the  drops  of  pendent  icicles  fall  with  a 

smart  sound  to  the  earth.     The  sailor  came  down  from  his  bedroom 

refreshed    after  a   sound  sleep  ;  and,  after  he  had  partaken   of   a 

hearty  breakfast,  he  shook  hands  with  all  the  servants,  and  took 

a  more  tender  leave  of  Margaret  :  leaving  his  best  wishes  lor  the 

young  gentleman,  he  returned  to  his  boat  some  miles  down  the 

river,  and  thence  to  his  ship. 

He  was  gone  before  the  Cliff  party  assembled  at  the  breakfast- 

1 1 


164  THE   HISTORY  OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

table,  but  he  took  with  him  the  best  prayers  of  all,  and  most 
especially  those  of  the  girl  of  his  heart,  for  his  future  safety  and 
prosperity. 

Master  William  gradually  recovered,  and  took  warning  from  this 
narrow  escape  not  to  venture  any  more  upon  such  dangerous 
excursions.  Though  fond  of  boating,  he  lost  the  zest  for  wild-fowl 
shooting,  and  left  it  for  others  to  pursue  who  had  not  purchased 
experience  at  so  dear  a  price. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

ALTERCATION   AND    EXPLANATION. 


It  was  not  long  after  these  occurrences  that  Mr.  Cobbold  and  his 
family  removed  from  the  Cliff  to  a  house  in  the  town,  a  large 
family  mansion,  formerly  the  property  of  C.  Norton,  Esq.,  on  St. 
Margaret's  Green,  which  he  had  purchased,  and  thither  he  and  his 
family  would  have  earlier  removed  but  for  some  repairs  which  were 
not  completed  until  that  time.  It  was  a  fine  old  mansion,  fronting 
the  town,  writh  its  entrance  porch,  and  lofty  windows,  with 
numerous  attics  :  whilst  its  drawing,  dining,  and  breakfast  rooms 
faced  the  beautiful  green  fields  which  then  skirted  the  town  towards 
the  hills  upon  the  Wo'odbridge  Road. 

Mrs.  Cobbold  took  the  first  favourable  opportunity  of  question- 
ing Margaret  respecting  her  attachment  to  Will  Laud,  of  whose 
character  she  spoke  freely.  Margaret  spoke  warmly  in  his 
defence,  while  she  acknowledged  the  truth  of  much  that  had  been 
advanced  against  him,  and  as  wrarmly  expressed  her  conviction 
he  would  reform.  Sincerely  did  the  lady  hope  that  all  her  poor 
servant's  favourable  anticipations  might  be  confirmed. 

Upon  Margaret's  spirits,  however,  this  conversation,  which  was 
broken  off  suddenly  by  the  entrance  of  one  of  the  servants, 
produced  a  depression  which  greatly  affected  and  afflicted  her. 
Her  mistress  did  not  appear  in  her  eyes  either  so  amiable,  or  so 
kind,  or  so  just,  or  so  considerate;  as  she  had  always  previously 
done.  She  began  to  suspect  that  she  was  prejudiced  even  against 
her  on  Laud's  account.  She  fancied  herself  not  so  much  beloved 
bj  Her  as  she  used  to  be,  and  that  she  did  not  estimate  her  services 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  165 

as  highly  as,  by  her  manner,  she  used  formerly  to  show  that  she 
did.  Words  which  Margaret  would  never  have  thought  anything 
about  at  other  times,  when  now  spoken  by  her  mistress,  seemed 
to  import  something  unpleasant,  as  if  her  attachment  was  the 
reason  of  their  being  uttered.  She  was  never  admonished  now  but 
she  thought  it  was  because  of  her  unfortunate  acquaintance  with 
Laud.  Mrs.  Cobbold  did  not  revert,  in  the  least  degree,  to  the  ' 
past  matters  of  confidential  conversation.  Indeed,  after  her  most 
devout  aspirations  had  been  made  for  her  servant's  future  comfort, 
she  did  not  think  about  the  matter.  But  in  Margaret's  eyes 
every  little  thing  said  or  done  seemed  to  have  a  peculiar  meaning, 
which  her  own  warped  mind  attached  to  it.  In  fact,  she  became  an 
altered  person — suspicious,  distrustful,  capricious,  and,  in  many 
things,  far  less  careful  than  she  ought  to  have  been.  And  all  this 
arose  from  that  well-intentioned  conversation,  voluntarily  be^un 
on  the  part  of  her  mistress,  but  which  had  created  such  a  serious 
disappointment  in  Margaret's  mind. 

A  circumstance  arose  about  the  time  of  the  removal  of  the  family, 
which,  though  simple  in  itself,  tended  very  greatly  to  inflame  that 
disquietude  in  Margaret's  breast,  which  only  wanted  to  be  stirred 
up  to  burn  most  fiercely. 

Many  of  the  things  had  been  removed  to  St.  Margaret's  Green. 
Part  of  the  family  had  already  left  the  Cliff  and  were  domesticated 
in  the  mansion.  Several  of  the  children,  especially  all  the  younger 
ones,  had  become  familiarised  with  their  far  more  extensive 
nursery  :  Margaret  was  with  them.  The  footman  had  been  sent, 
together  with  the  gardener,  as  safeguards  to  the  house  ;  and  even 
the  old  coachman,  though  frequently  engaged  driving  backwards 
and  forwards  from  one  house  to  the  other,  considered  himself, 
horses  and  all,  as  settled  at  the  town-house. 

The  Cliff  began  to  be  deserted,  and  in  another  day  the  master 
and  mistress  would  leave  the  house  to  those  only  who  were  to  live 
in  it.  Mrs.  Cobbold  and  one  or  two  of  the  elder  boys  were  still 
at  the  Cliff.  The  faithful  old  dog,  Pompey,  still  kept  his  kennel, 
which  stood  at  the  entrance  of  the  stable-yard.  Mr.  Cobbold  had 
been  superintending  the  unpacking  of  some  valuable  goods  until  a 
late  hour,  and  his  lady,  at  the  Cliff,  was  anxiously  awaiting  his 
return.  It  was  a  clear  frosty  night,  and  the  snow  was  upon  the 
ground;  but  the  gravel  path  had  been  well  swept  down  to  Cie 
shrubbery  gate.      Pompey  had   been  furiously  barking  for   some 


1 66  THE    HISTORY    OF   MARGARET    CATCHPOLE, 

time,  and  had  disturbed  Mrs.  Cobbold,  who  was  engaged  with 
her  book — some  new  publication  of  that  eventful  time.  The  two 
elder  boys  sat  by  the  fire.     She  said  to  them — 

"  I  wish,  boys,  you  would  go  and  see  what  Pompey  is  barking  at." 
"  Oh  !  it  is  nothing,  I  dare  say,  but  some  sailor3  on  the  shore." 
The  young   men,  for  so   they   might   be   called,  had   taken  off 
their  boots  or  shoes,  and  had  put  on  their  slippers,  and  very  natu- 
rally were  little  disposed  to  put  them  on  again,  and  to  move  from 
a  nice,  comfortable  fire,  into  the  cold  air  of  a  frosty  night. 

Mrs.  Cubbold  finding,  however,  that  she  could  not  get  en  with 
her  book  for  the  increasing  rage  of  the  dog,  determined  to  go  out 
herself.  She  was  a  person  of  no  mean  courage,  and  not  easily 
daunted.  She  thought,  moreover,  that  if  she  moved,  her  sons 
would  leave  their  backgammon  board  and  follow  her,  and,  if  not, 
that  she  might  probably  meet  her  husband.  She  put  on  her  thick 
cloak,  threw  a  shawl  over  her  head,  and  sallied  forth.  As  the  door 
opened,  Pompey  ceased  his  loud  bark,  but  every  now  and  then 
gave  a  low  growl,  and  a  short,  suppressed  bark,  as  if  he  was  not 
quite  satisfied.  Mrs.  Cobbold  walked  down  the  gravel  path  toward 
the  gate,  and,  as  she  proceeded,  she  saw  a  man  go  across  the  path 
and  enter  the  laurel  shrubbery  directly  before  her.  She  went 
back  immediately  to  the  parlour,  and  told  the  two  young  men 
what  she  had  seen  ;  but,  whether  it  was  that  they  were  too  deeply 
engaged  with  their  game,  or  that  they  were  really  afraid,  they 
treated  the  matter  very  lightly,  simply  saying,  that  it  was  some 
sweetheart  of  the  cottagers,  or  that  she  must  have  fancied  she 
saw  some  one.  At  all  events,  they  declined  going  out,  and  advised 
her  not  to  think  anything  more  about  it. 

This  neither  satisfied  the  lady  nor  old  Pompey,  who  began  again 
to  give  tongue  most  furiously.  Finding  that  she  was  unable  to 
make  them  stir,  the  lady  determined  to  investigate  the  matter 
herself;  and,  telling  the  young  men  her  intention,  she  again  went 
out,  and  advanced  to  the  very  spot  where  she  had  seen  the  man 
enter  the  shrubbery.  The  traces  on  the  snow  convinced  her  the 
man  was  in  the  shrubbery.  In  a  firm  and  decided  voice,  she  cried 
out — 

"  Come  out  of  that  bush— come  out,  I  say  !  I  know  you  are 
there  ;  I  saw  you  enter  ;  and  if  you  do  not  immediately  come  out, 
I  will  order  the  dog  to  be  let  out  upon  you  !  Come  out  !  You  had 
better  come  out  this  moment." 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  167 

The  bushes  began  to  move,  the  snow  to  fall  from  the  leaves,  and 
out  rolled  a  heavy  looking  man,  dressed  as  a  sailor,  and  apparently 
drunk  :  he  looked  up  at  the  lady  with  a  villainous  scowl,  and 
staggered  a  step  towards  her. 

"What  do  you  do  here?  Who  are  you?"  she  said,  without 
moving. 

"  My  name's  John  Luff.     I — "  (hiccup) — "  I — I  do  no  harm  ! " 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice,  Pompey  became  so  furious,  that  he 
actually  dragged  his  great  kennel  from  its  fixture,  and  as  his  chain 
would  not  break,  it  came  lumbering  along  over  the  stones  towards 
the  spot. 

As  the  fellow  heard  this,  he  began  to  stagger  oil,  but  at  every 
step  turned  round  to  see  if  the  lady  followed  him. 

This  she  did,  keeping  at  the  same  distance  from  him,  and  saying, 
"Be  off  with  you  !  be  off !  "  She  then  saw  him  go  out  at  the  gate, 
and  turn  round  the  wall,  to  the  shore. 

Farther  than  her  own  gate  she  di.l  not  think  it  prudent  to  go  ; 
but  when  she  got  so  far,  she  was  rej  need  to  see  her  husband  at  a 
distance  returning  upon  the  marsh  wall  to  the  Cliff. 

Old  Pompey  had  by  this  time  come  up  to  the  gate  with  his 
kennel  behind  him,  and  evidently  impatient  to  be  let  loose. 

She  was  engaged  in  the  attempt  to  unloose  the  dog  as  her 
astonished  husband  came  up  to  the  gate  ;  he  soon  learned  the 
cause  of  this  appearance,  and  immediately  undid  Pompey's  collar  ; 
the  animal  sprang  over  the  gate,  and  ran  along  the  shore  till  he 
came  to  the  cut  where  boats  occasionally  landed,  and  was  clo?ely 
followed  by  his  master,  who  plainly  saw  a  man  pulling  into  the 
channel  in  a  manner  which  convinced  him  he  was  no  inexperienced 
hand  at  the  oar. 

In  the  meantime  an  exaggerated  report  reached  St.  Margaret's 
Green,  that  a  sailor  had  been  seen  lurking  about  the  premises  at 
the  Cliff,  and  that  he  had  attacked  their  mistress. 

Of  course,  the  tale  lo3t  nothing  but  truth  by  the  telling  ;  and  it 
was  affirmed  in  the  kitchen  that  it  was  "Will  Laud  himself. 

Some  told  Margaret  the  fact ;  she  felt  greatly  annoyed,  and 
was  much  surprised  that  when  Mrs.  Cobbold  came  to  the  house 
the  next  day,  she  did  not  speak  to  her  upon  the  subject.  She 
resolved  that  if  her  mistress  did  not  soon  speak  to  her,  she  would 
broach  the  subject  herself;  but  Mrs.  Cobbold  put  this  question  to 
her  the  next  day  : — 


1 68  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

11  Margaret,  do  you  know  a  man  of  the  name  of  John  Luff?" 

"  Yes,  madam,"  she  replied  ;  "I  do  know  such  a  man,  and  I 
most  heartily  wish  I  had  never  known  him." 

"  I  wish  the  same,  Margaret,"  said  her  mistress,  and  then  related 
her  recent  adventure. 

"He  is  the  man,"  said  Margaret,  "who  perverted  all  Will's 
naturally  good  talents,  and  induced  him  to  join  his  nefarious 
traffickers.  lie  is  a  desperate  villain,  and  would  murder  any  one  ! 
Did  he  threaten  you  with  any  violence  1  I  am  glad,  indeed,  that 
you  escaped  unhurt  from  the  fangs  of  such  a  monster." 

"He  did  me  no  injury,"  answered  the  lady. 

Another  long  conversation  then  followed  between  Mrs.  Cobbold 
and  Margaret,  in  which  the  latter  complained  bitterly  of  the  change 
she  fancied  had  taken  place  in  her  mistress's  behaviour  towards 
her.  The  lady  denied  such  change  had  taken  place,  and  endea- 
voured to  convince  her  servant  that  the  alteration  was  hi  her  own 
disposition. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


THE   RECONCILIATION. 


Whether  it  was  that  Margaret's  fame  had  reached  the  village" 
of  Brandiston,  or  that  Mrs.  Leader  repented  most  bitterly  the 
loss  of  her  assistance,  or  that  her  rents  of  the  land  and  cottages 
began  to  be  in  arrear  and  to  fall  off,  and  she  herself  found  that 
poverty  crept  in  upon  her,  certain  it  was  that  something  sufficiently 
powerful  in  its  nature  prompted  her  to  speak  kindly  to  Margaret, 
whom  she  accidentally  met  that  very  day  as  she  was  going  across 
V.\c  Green  towards  Christ  Church  Park  ;  she  had  arrived  at  Ipswich 
with  her  husband,  and  was  passing  over  the  Green  just  as  Margaret 
with  the  children,  all  wrapped  up  in  cloaks  and  muffs,  were  going 
to  see  the  skaters  on  the  Round  Pond  in  the  Park. 

The  meeting  was  much  more  cordial  than  could  have  been  ex- 
pected ;  but  Mrs.  Leader  was  a  changed  woman.  After  the  inter- 
change of  mutual  civilities,  Margaret  said  that  she  should  be  home 
by  four  o'clock,  and  if  her  uncle  and  aunt  would  call,  she  knew 
that  her  mistress  would  have  no  objection  to  their  coming  into  the 


THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  1 69 

house.     Mrs.  Leader  even  shook  hands  with  her,  and  promised  to 
pay  her  a  visit. 

"  What  a  wonderful  change  !  "  thought  Margaret,  as  she  hastened 
on  with  the  little  ones  to  overtake  two  or  three  of  the  impatient 
party,  who  were  looking  behind  from  the  Park  gate. 

The  Park  at  Ipswich  is  a  beautiful  place  in  summer  :  twice  a 
week  were  its  gates  thrown  open  by  the  liberal  proprietor  of  the 
domain  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  town,  who  rambled  along  tlu 
shady  chestnut  walk  to  its  utmost  bound.  Many  were  the  happy 
walks  that  infancy,  delighting  in  the  sunny  flowers  of  the  mead, 
took  in  that  lovely  place  ;  and  many  the  more  tender  and  animating 
rambles  which  fond  hearts  and  faithful  lovers  in  the  days  of  youth 
enjoyed.  Parents  and  their  children  breaking  away  from  the  cares 
of  business,  delighted  to  stroll  in  holiday  attire,  and  repose  them- 
selves beneath  the  branches  of  those  stately  trees  which  everywhere 
adorned  the  Park.  There  they  heard  the  first  notes  of  the  cuckoo  ; 
there  they  watched  the  green  and  spotted  woodpecker ;  observed 
the  busy  rooks  ;  heard  the  nightingales,  the  thrushes,  and  the  doves, 
and  spoke  of  all  the  innocent  pleasures  of  nature. 

The  spotted  fallow  deer  crossed  their  path  in  a  long  line  of  rapid 
flight,  and  assembled  in  a  herd  in  the  valley  ;  the  pheasant  and  the 
partridge  roamed  about  in  pride  and  beauty  ;  whilst  the  hare  and 
the  rabbit,  almost  familiarised  to  the  sound  of  children's  voices, 
lifted  up  their  long  ears,  or  stood  upon  their  hind  legs  to  gaze  upon 
them  as  they  passed. 

In  the  winter,  the  stragglers  in  the  Park  were  comparatively  few, 
excepting  at  that  period  when  the  pond  was  frozen  over,  and 
became  the  fashionable  resort  for  company  to  view  the  skaters  ; 
thither  the  young  party  whom  Margaret  had  the  care  of  resorted, 
to  see  the  dexterous  movements  of  Counsellor  Green,  or  some  of 
his  majesty's  officers  from  the  barracks.  The  company  that  day 
was  numerous,  and  the  scene  such  as  would  delight  thousands, 
even  were  it  in  the  gay  metropolis  ;  it  would  have  induced  many 
of  the  fashionables  to  leave  the  warm,  soft  cushions  by  the  fireside, 
and  to  wrap  themselves  in  furs,  and  to  put  on  their  snow-shoes, 
and  to  enjoy  the  healthy,  though  frosty,  air  of  Christmas. 

Many  in  the  busy  town  of  Ipswich  left  their  labours  and 
their  cares  for  a  few  hours'  recreation  ;  fair  ladies  ventured  to  lean 
upon  a  brother's  or  a  lover's  arm  and  try  the  slippery  ice  ; 
sledges,  too,  were  in  requisition. 


170  THE    HISTORY    OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

Though  the  skating  was  good,  and  all  the  young  people  enjoyed 
it,  Margaret's  thoughts  were  upon  her  uncle  and  aunt,  and  she  was 
the  first  to  remind  her  young  people  that  the  old  Christ  Church 
clock  had  struck  four. 

Home  they  went,  gratified  and  satisfied,  talking  of  the  fright- 
ful cracks,  and  heavy  falls,  and  well-contested  races  which  they 
had  mightily  enjoyed  ;  when  they  came  into  the  house  they  gave 
a  lively  account  of  all  they  had  seen. 

With  Mrs.  Cobbold's  permission,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leader  were 
invited  to  take  tea  in  the  housekeeper's  room,  and  Margaret  was 
allowed  to  have  a  long  talk  with  them. 

She  found  her  uncle  much  more  chatty  than  her  aunt,  for 
sorrow  and  coming  poverty  had  cast  their  shadows  before  Mrs. 
Leader,  and  wonderfully  softened  the  asperity  of  her  former  purse- 
proud  disposition  ;  she  .let  her  husband  speak  of  all  the  family 
troubles,  and  did  not  once  interrupt  him.  Margaret  soon  learned 
that  all  their  property  was  mortgaged,  and  for  its  full  value.  Slid 
learned  that  the  children  were  barefoot,  and  neglected  ;  that  it 
would  require  steady  management  indeed  ever  to  bring  them 
again  into  a  prosperous  or  a  comfortable  state  ;  she  felt  for  them 
all,  and  not  only  felt,  but  did  all  she  could  to  ameliorate  their 
condition.  She  offered  advice,  which  was  taken  in  good  part  by 
the  now  crestfallen  aunt. 

A  strange  effect  had  that  comfortable  reception  in  the  house- 
keeper's room  upon  the  nerves  and  manners  of  Mrs.  Leader,  she 
looked  up  to  Margaret  as  if  she  was  a  person  of  considerable  con- 
sequence in  that  family ;  she  asked  Margaret  if  she  might  also  see 
the  children  ;  nothing  could  have  given  Margaret  greater  pleasure. 

All  in  the  nursery  were  delighted  to  see  a  visitor ;  and  Mrs. 
Leader  very  soon  discovered  that  where  management,  cleanliness, 
and  strict  attention  are  paid,  there  will  grow  up  order,  regularity, 
and  comfort ;  she  stayed  some  minutes  with  the  happy  family. 
As  she  returned  to  the  housekeeper's  room,  she  sighed  when  she 
said  to  Margaret — 

"I  now  wish  I  had  never  provoked  you  to  leave  us.  I  did  not 
like  to  own  it,  but,  very  soon  after  you  were  gone,  I  felt  your  loss  ; 
I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  come  and  see  us  in  the  summer,  and 
should  you  ever  be  tired  of  service,  and  wish  for  a  home,  you  will 
find  us  very  altered  in  our  manner  to  you,  and  more  grateful  for 
your  services." 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  171 

Margaret  could  forgive-  all  that  her  aunt  had  ever  said  or  done 
to  her  ;  she  felt  so  happy  in  having  been  reconciled  to  her,  that 
she  could  not  refrain  from  telling  her  so.  She  gave  a  portion  of 
her  wages  for  the  schooling  of  the  children,  and  thanked  her  uncle 
and  aunt  for  their  kind  invitation.  She  even  hinted  that  the  time 
might  come  when  her  hopes  uf  settling  in  Brandiston  might  be 
realized,  should  Laud  obtain  his  discharge  ;  in  short,  she  promised 
to  see  them  in  summer,  as  she  had  no  doubt  that  she  should  obtain 
leave  from  her  kind  mistress. 

The  day  was  gone,  and  the  moon  was  high,  and  the  sky  was 
clear,  and  the  happy  Margaret  would  have  had  them  stay  all  night. 
She  had  received  a  message  to  the  effect  that  the  pony  might  be 
put  in  the  stable,  and  that  her  uncle  and  aunt  might  sleep  in  the 
house  ;  they  prudently  declined,  lest  a  deep  snow  might  fall  and 
prevent  their  reaching  home  ;  so  off  they  went,  happier  than  they 
had  been  any  day  since  their  affectionate  niece  left  them,  and  this 
happiness  arose  from  the  reconciliation. 

It  was  a  lucky  thing  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leader  that  they  went 
home  as  they  did  that  very  night,  for  not  long  after  their  arrival 
home  began  that  severe  winter  and  deep  snow  which  formed  one  of 
the  most  remarkable  features  in  the  history  of  the  climate  of  England. 
It  would  be  foreign  to  the  present  narrative  to  dwell  upon  the 
events  of  that  particular  season,  further  than  to  refer  to  the  great 
exertions  made  by  persons  of  all  ranks  and  conditions,  above  actual 
distress,  to  support  the  famishing  poor.  Houses  were  established 
in  different  parts  of  the  town  of  Ipswich  for  the  public  distribution 
of  soup,  coals,  and  blankets,  and  various  families  agreed  to  furnish 
supplies  for  the  various  days  of  the  week. 

Margaret  was  now  as  busy  in  the  kitchen  as  she  had  been  in 
the  nursery,  for  at  this  time  the  cook  of  the  family  returned  home 
ill,  and  no  one  else  could  be  found  so  apt  as  Margaret  to  supply 
her  place. 

It  was  at  this  memorable  season  that  her  aptitude  for  this  situa- 
tion was  discovered,  which  led  to  such  a  change  in  her  condition, 
as  future  pages  will  record.  A  servant  was  soon  found  for  the 
nursery,  who  supplied  her  place,  and  she  became  the  active  cook 
of  the  family.  In  such  a  large  domestic  establishment  as  that  of 
Mr.  Cobbold,  the  cook  was  a  person  of  the  utmost  consequence  ;  and 
although  there  was  a  regular  housekeeper  who  acted  as  an  inter- 
vening link  between  the  parlour  and  the  kitchen,  yet  Mrs.  Cobbold 


172  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

was  by  no  means  so  unacquainted  with  the  proceedings  of  her 
house,  as  to  be  found  negligent  of  a  due  supervision  over  every 
department. 

In  the  new  place  Margaret  had  undertaken  at  the  earnest  request 
of  her  mistress,  her  active  powers  of  benevolence  was  now  called 
into  existence.  The  feeling  manner  in  which  she  represented  to 
her  fellow- servants  the  destitution  of  thousands  around  them,  and 
the  great  sin  there  was  in  the  least  waste  ;  the  strong  necessity 
now  became  a  duty  in  every  one  to  deny  themselves  some  portion 
of  their  daily  bread,  that  those  who  were  starving  might  have  a 
share  ;  made  a  powerful  impression  upon  the  domestics  of  that 
establishment.  At  this  time,  though  a  greater  allowance  was  made 
on  account  of  the  provisions  given  away  by  this  affluent  family, 
yet  such  was  the  economy  in  the  kitchen,  and  the  honest,  self- 
satisfactory  privation  exercised  by  the  whole  house,  that  not  the 
least  waste  was  made,  and  the  accustomed  expenditure  was  very 
little  increased.  The  poor,  however,  were  bountifully  supplied, 
and  Margaret's  name  was  as  justly  praised  below  stairs,  as,  in  past 
days,  it  had  been  above.  Little  did  she  think  that  her  activity, 
economy,  and  management,  which  a  sense  of  duty  and  charity  had 
called  into  action,  would  fix  her  in  the  kitchen  at  such  an  increase 
of  wages,  as,  comparatively,  seemed  to  her  like  coming  into  a  little 
fortune.  She  had  now  become  the  head  of  all  the  domestics,  from 
having  been  the  servant  of  all.  She  had  an  increase  of  toil,  but 
she  had  a  help  under  her.  There  was  dinner  for  the  nursery, 
dinner  for  the  kitchen,  dinner  for  the  parlour,  and  that  which  is 
now  almost  obsolete,  a  hot  supper  for  all  the  house.  But  what  is 
work  to  one  who  is  strong  and  willing,  and  ready  and  desirous  of 
giving  satisfaction  ? 

Time,  fully  occupied,  passes  on  rapidly,  and  Margaret  was  now 
looked  upon  with  respect  by  the  whole  house.  What  a  pity  that 
that  respect  should  ever  have  been  blighted,  or  that  any  circum- 
stances should  have  interfered  with  that  peaceful  enjoyment  which 
she  seemed  at  this  time  to  experience,  and  which  in  after  years 
she  never  forgot  !  In  leaving  the  nursery,  she  left  that  frequent 
intercourse  with  her  mistress,  and  consequently  that  continued 
mental  improvement  which  she  had  gradually  imbibed.  She  was 
not  now  under  her  immediate  eye  ;  she  seldom  heard  that  sweet 
voice  of  approbation,  pleasing  beyond  all  expression  from  such  a 
mistress. 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  I  73 

It  was  one  of  those  singular  coincidences  which  happened  in  her 
eventful  life,  that  on  the  celebrated  1st  of  June,  1704,  her  lover, 
William  Laud,  distinguished  himself  in  Lord  Howe's  victory  over 
the  French,  and  was  one  of  the  seamen  appointed  to  bring  home 
a  splendid  prize  to  Portsmouth  ;  and  that  Margaret  herself,  on  the 
very  same  day,  distinguished  herself  in  an  aquatic  feat,  which  would 
have  been  no  disgrace  to  a  British  seaman  to  have  performed,  and 
which  exhibited  a  degree  of  courage  and  presence  of  mind,  truly 
wonderful  in  a  female. 

In  the  garden  belonging  to  the  mansion  at  St.  Margaret's  Green 
was  a  very  deep  pond,  with  turfed  sides,  which  were  sloping  and 
steep,  so  that  the  gardener  had  to  descend  to  the  water  by  a  flight 
of  six  steps.  Formerly  it  had  been  a  handsome  square  pond,  with 
edges  neatly  kept,  and  surrounded  by  Alpine  strawberry -beds.  At 
the  period  of  this  tale,  one  side  opened  into  the  adjoining  meadow, 
and  half  of  that  extensive  garden  was  laid  down  to  grass.  To  this 
day,  the  two  stately  weeping  willows  may  be  seen  dipping  their 
pensile  edges  into  the  pond,  though  time  has  lopped  off  many  an 
arm,  and  somewhat  curtailed  them  of  their  beauty.  At  that  time, 
when  Margaret  was  cook  at  St.  Margaret's  Green,  these  trees  were 
the  ornaments  of  the  exterior  of  the  town,  and  to  have  made  a 
sketch  from  the  hill,  on  the  Woodbridge  Road,  without  including 
them,  would  have  been  to  have  robbed  the  town  of  Ipswich  of  one 
of  its  most  prominent  and  pleasing  features  of  landscape  beauty. 
They  were  very  lofty,  though  pendent,  and  in  the  month  of  June, 
might  be  justly  styled  magnificent.  Hundreds  of  their  boughs 
kissed  the  water  with  their  thin,  taper  points.  The  girl  who  had 
the  care  of  the  children  had  been  often  warned  not  to  go  near  the 
edge  of  the  road. 

On  this  1st  of  June,  1794,  Margaret  had  entered  the  garden  to 
gather  some  herbs,  and  had  scarcely  closed  the  gate  before  she 
heard  a  sudden  shriek  of  distress.  The  voices  of  the  children 
struck  upon  her,  from  the  centre  of  the  garden.  She  ran  down  the 
path,  and  there  she  saw  the  whole  group  standing  and  screaming  at 
the  edge  of  the  pond,  and  the  nursemaid  completely  at  her  wits' 
end  with  fright.  Master  Henry  had  been  running  away  from  his 
sisters,  who  were  pursuing  him  down  the  path,  and  having  turned 
hi3  head  round  to  look  at  them,  he  did  not  perceive  his  danger. 
His  foot  caught  the  edge  of  the  grass  border  which  surrounded  the 
pond,  and  he  was  precipitated  head-foremost  into  the  deepest  part 


174  TIIE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

of  it.  In  a  moment  he  was  seen  plunging  and  screaming  for  heip, 
but  all  his  efforts  only  tended  to  carry  him  still  further  towards  the 
middle  of  the  pond  :  he  must  inevitably  have  been  drowned,  had 
not  Margaret  at  that  moment  providentially  entered  the  garden. 

Margaret's  astonishing  presence  of  mind  enabled  her  to  resolve 
in  an  instant  what  it  was  best  to  do,  and  her  heroic  courage  caused 
her  not  to  shrink  from  doing  it  ;  she  ordered  the  nurserymaid  to 
run  with  all  speed  to  the  stables  for  a  ladder  and  rope,  and  then 
creeping  along  the  strongest  arm  of  the  weeping  willow  that  spread 
itself  over  the  centre  of  the  pond,  and  going  as  far  as  she  could 
towards  the  child,  she  grasped  a  handful  of  those  pendent  branches 
which  dipped  themselves  into  the  water,  and  swinging  herself  by 
her  right  arm,  into  the  pond,  and  stretching  cut  her  left  to  the 
utmost,  she  seized  the  child  by  the  collar  of  his  little  jacket,  and 
held  him  above  the  water  until  the  assistance  she  sent  for  arrived. 

It  required  both  nerve  and  presence  of  mind,  as  well  as  bodily 
strength,  to  support  herself  in  this  position  only  for  a  few  minutes. 
She  gradually  drew  the  child  nearer  to  her,  and  though  in  great 
danger  herself,  her  first  word3  to  him  were,  "  Don't  be  afraid, 
Master  Henry  ;  I  have  got  you  !  Keep  still  !  keep  still  !  don't 
struggle  !  " 

The  gardener  and  the  coachman  had  by  this  time  arrived  with 
the  ladder  and  a  rope,  they  let  it  down  from  the  arm  of  the  tree, 
resting  the  upper  stave  just  against  its  branches.  The  gardener 
descended  a  few  steps,  and  Margaret  gave  him  the  child,  whilst  she 
herself  remained  with  the  boughs  in  her  hand,  until  the  boy  was 
safe.  She  then  requested  them  to  throw  her  the  rope,  that  she 
might  leave  go  of  the  willow  and  be  drawn  to  the  side  of  the  pond. 
She  put  the  rope  round  her  waist  and  took  hold  of  it,  doubled, 
with  both  hand3,  and  in  this  way  was  dragged  through  the  water 
to  the  bank. 

Thus  was  Margaret  Citchpole,  for  the  third  time,  the  providential 
instrument  in  |  reserving  the  life  of  a  member  of  Mr.  Cobbold's 
family.  It  will  not,  then,  be  matter  of  surprise,  that  the  records 
of  her  life  should  have  been  so  strictly  preserved  among  them. 
If  there  had  been  any  former  coolness  or  misunderstanding 
between  her  and  any  of  the  domestics  of  the  family,  this  event 
completely  reconciled  all  differences.  It  was  felt  by  one  and  all, 
that  a  woman  who  could  risk  her  life  to  save  another's  in  this 
manner,  was  worthy  of  their  united  respect.     She  was,  at  this  time, 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  1 75 

at  the  very  summit  of  her  reputation.  A  few  days  more  brought 
the  news  of  that  celebrated  victory  over  the  French  fleet,  which 
added  so  much  to  the  naval  glory  of  Old  England.  In  that 
victory  more  than  one  Ipswich  man  partook,  and  returned  to  speak 
of  the  engagement.  One  poor  fellow,  in  particular,  was  sent  home, 
desperately  wounded,  who,  for  many  years,  became  an  object  of 
respect,  as  well  as  charitable  attention,  to  many  families  in  the 
town  and  neighbourhood.  This  was  poor  old  Jack,  whose  friends 
kept  the  Salutation  public  house,  in  Carr  Street,  who  always  went 
by  the  name  of  "What  Cheer?"  When  he  first  returned  to  his 
aunt,  the  landlady  of  the  house,  he  had  his  senses  perfect,  and 
could  speak  of  the  engagement  with  such  clearness  and  precision  as 
delighted  the  seamen  who  frequented  the  house.  He  was  on  board 
the  same  ship  as  Will  Laud,  and  on  the  1st  of  June  they  fought 
side  by  side. 

Margaret  heard  of  this,  and  used  to  go  down  to  the  public-house 
in  question,  to  hear  from  Jack  all  she  could  of  one  who  was  as  dear 
to  her  as  her  own  life.  He  was  desired  by  Laud  to  tell  Margaret 
that  he  was  coming  home  with  plenty  of  prize-money  as  soon  as  he 
could  obtain  his  discharge.  It  was  this  which  gave  her  spirit  such 
joy,  and  made  her  so  anxious  to  hear  all  she  could  of  the  battle  ; 
and,  of  course,  of  that  part  which  her  lover  took  in  it.  Poor  Jack's 
intellects,  however,  from  the  severity  of  his  wounds,  and  consequent 
attack  of  fever,  became  irretrievably  impaired ;  and  though  he 
recovered  his  health,  and  became  a  constant  visitor  of  St.  Margaret's 
Green,  yet  he  never  could  afterwards  give  any  connected  account 
of  the  battle. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

TUB    ALTERATION. 


We  left  our  heroine,  in  the  last  chapter,  esteemed  of  every  one 
who  knew  her,  and  looking  forward  to  what  was  to  her  the  height 
of  human  felicity — the  reformation  and  return  of  her  sailor- lover. 
Xo  less  true  than  strange  is  the  fact,  that  when  we  reach  the  highest 
pinnacle  of  this  world's  happiness,  some  giddiness  of  the  head  is 
apt  to  make  us  fall.     So,  at  all  events,  it  proved  with  the  female 


176  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

who  gives  a  title  to  this  book.  It  became  matter  of  deep  concern 
to  every  member  of  Mr.  Cobbold's  family,  to  behold  in  her  an 
alteration  which  no  previous  circumstances  in  her  life  had  prepared 
them  for.  There  was  nothing  in  reason,  and  consistent  with  their 
own  happiness,  that  her  grateful  master  and  mistress  would  not 
have  granted  her.  Any  situation  she  wished  to  attain,  either  for 
herself  or  for  her  friends,  would  have  commanded  every  exertion 
they  could  have  made  in  her  favour.  She  stood  so  high  in  their 
opinion,  and  in  every  one's  else  who  knew  her,  that  it  scarcely 
seemed  possible  for  her  to  forfeit  it.  Apparently  she  had  nothing 
to  complain  of  ;  no  cause  for  dissatisfaction  ;  no  inducement  what- 
ever to  alter  her  disposition.  Yet  an  alteration  did  take  place, 
and  one  which  became  evident  to  every  one. 

Where  the  heart  is  unsettled,  things  seldom  go  on  well.  There 
wants  that  peace  and  security  which  can  alone  make  the  discharge 
of  our  daily  duties  a  daily  pleasure.  Margaret's  early  impressions 
of  religion  had  been  of  a  very  desultory  kind,  and  here  was  the 
root  of  all  the  evil  that  afterwards  befell  her.  The  want  of  fixed 
religious  principles  early  instilled  into  the  young  mind  has  caused 
many  a  good  disposition  to  give  way  to  those  changes  and  chances 
which  happen  in  life,  and  to  create  an  alteration  even  in  the 
brightest  prospects.  In  the  earliest  days  of  this  child  of  nature,  an 
innate  humanity  of  disposition  had  been  cultivated  and  increased 
by  her  attendance  on  a  sick  and  afflicted  sister  and  an  aged  mother, 
both  of  whom  had  constantly  required  her  aid.  Her  natural 
qualities  were,  as  the  reader  has  seen,  up  to  this  moment  of  the 
noblest  cast.  Still,  in  the  absence  of  any  strong  religious  senti- 
ment, the  best  dispositions  are  at  the  mercy  of  violent  passions, 
and  are  subje3t  to  the  most  dangerous  caprices.  The  reader  must 
have  observed  that,  in  the  midst  of  all  her  good  qualities,  Margaret 
Catchpole  evinced  a  pertinacity  of  attachment  to  the  object  of  her 
affections,  even  in  his  most  unworthy  days— an  attachment  which 
no  circumstances  whatever,  not  even  the  warning  of  her  sister's 
death-bed,  could  shake.  She  had  built  upon  a  vague  hope  of 
Laud's  alteration  of  life,  and  his  settlement  in  some  quiet  occupa- 
tion. She  had  been  accustomed  to  very  great  disappointments  and 
vexations,  and,  with  a  spirit  above  her  years,  she  had  borne  them 
all,  and  had  shown  an  energy  of  mind  and  activity  worthy  of  better 
thing3.  How  weak  are  all  qualities  without  the  support  of  re- 
ligion !     At   a   time   when  promises  seemed   most  fair,    when  an 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  177 

unexpected  reconciliation  had  taken  place  "with  her  uncle  and  aunt 
Leader,  when  Laud's  return  was  daily  expected,  and  all  the  favours 
of  a  generous  family  were  heaped  upon  her  for  her  good  conduct, — 
at  such  a  time  an  alteration  of  her  disposition  took  place,  which 
embittered  her  existence  for  many  years.  She  became  peevish  and 
irritable,  discontented  and  unhappy,  moody  and  melancholy.  She 
thanked  nobody  for  assistance,  asked  nothing  of  any  one,  and  gave 
no  reason  to  any  of  her  fellow-servants  for  this  sudden  alteration. 
Such  would  not  have  been  the  case,  had  religion  taught  her,  as  it 
now  does  many  in  her  station  of  life,  how  to  feel  supported  in  pros- 
perity as  well  as  in  adversity.  It  is  a  trite  saying,  that  "  we  seldom 
know  when  we  are  well  off."  We  are  not  content  to  "  let  well 
alone  ;  "  but  too  often  foolishly  speculate  upon  the  future,  and  fall 
into  some  present  snare. 

Nothing  had  been  heard  of  or  from  Laud,  except  that  a  sailor, 
who  had  served  with  him  in  the  glorious  battle  of  the  1st  of  June, 
had  visited  the  town,  and  told  Margaret  that  Laud  was  appointed 
to  come  home  in  one  of  the  prizes  taken  by  Lord  Howe  ;  and 
that,  probably,  he  was  then  at  Portsmouth,  waiting  until  he  should 
receive  his  prize-money  and  his  discharge.  Margaret  occasionally 
stole  down  in  the  evening  to  the  Salutation  public-house,  where 
the  old  sailor  was  staying,  to  speak  with  him,  and  to  hear  the 
naval  news.  She  was  here  occasionally  seen  by  other  sailors,  who 
frequented  the  house,  and  learned  where  she  lived.  They  under- 
stood the  bearings  of  her  history,  and  some  of  them  used  to  fabri- 
cate tales  on  purpose  to  get  an  introduction  into  the  kitchen  at 
St.  Margaret's  Green,  where  they  were  sure  to  be  welcomed  and 
well  treated  by  Margaret.  She  was,  at  this  time,  very  anxious  to 
hear  tidings  of  her  lover,  and  day  after  day  exhibited  symptoms 
of  restlessness,  which  could  not  long  be  passed  by  without  notice. 
The  frequency  of  sailors'  visits  to  the  kitchen  began  to  be  rumoured 
through  the  house,  and  stories  injurious  to  the  reputations  of  the 
in mates  were  circulated  in  the  neighbourhood.  Moreover,  the 
housekeeper  missed  various  articles  ;  and  meat,  and  bread,  and 
Ffcores,  began  to  be  unaccountably  diminished.  Inquiries  were 
instituted,  and  it  was  found  that  Margaret  had  certainly  given 
such  and  such  things  to  sailors  ;  and  without  doubt,  some  things 
were  stolen. 

Under  these  circumstances,  it  became  high  time  for  the  mistress 
cf  the  house  to  take  notice  of  these  things  ;  and,  in  as  gentle  a 


178  THE   HISTORY    OF   MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

a  manner  as  the  circumstances  of  the  case  would  permit,  she  spoke 
to  Margaret  alone  on  the  subject.  She  regretted  io  h^ar  from 
all  quarters  the  alteration  which  had  taken  place  in  ter  manner. 
She  spoke  to  her  most  feelingly  upon  the  result  of  such  a  change, 
and  with  great  kindness  contrasted  the  pleasure  of  the  past  with 
the  sorrow  which  her  late  conduct  occasioned. 

"I  cannot,"  she  added,  "permit  sailors  of  every  kind  to  bo 
incessantly  coming  to  the  house  at  all  hours  with  pretended  news 
of  Laud,  and  so  deceiving  you  by  playing  upon  your  disposition, 
and  then  robbing  you  and  the  house.  Reports  of  a  very  unpleasant 
nature  have  reached  my  ears  injurious  to  your  character  and  that 
of  my  establishment.  I  cannot  submit  to  these  things ;  and,  though 
I  most  sincerely  regard  you,  Margaret,  yet  I  must  make  you 
sensible  of  the  danger  you  incur  by  listening  to  the  artful  tales 
of  these  men.  I  strongly  recommend  you  to  have  nothing  to  do 
with  them.  Your  own  character  is  of  much  more  consequence 
to  you  than  their  nonsensical  stories.  If  you  wish  it,  I  will  write 
for  you  to  Portsmouth  to  make  inquiries  about  Laud  ;  and,  rather 
than  you  should  be  in  doubt  and  affliction,  and  in  any  uncertainty 
about  him,  I  am  sure  that  your  master  will  send  a  trustworthy 
person  to  search  him  out  and  ascertain  the  cause  of  his  detention. 

"  Let  me  see  you  henceforth  what  you  used  to  be — cheerful  and 
contented,  thankful  and  happy,  and  not  over-anxious  about 
matters  which  in  the  end  will  all  probably  come  right.  You  have 
my  entire  forgiveness  of  the  past,  even  though  you  do  not  ask  it  ; 
but  let  me  not  be  imposed  upon  for  the  future.  Go,  Margaret, 
go  ;  and  let  me  hear  no  more  of  these  complaints." 

Margaret  heard  all  that  her  mistress  said  in  perfect  silence.  She 
neither  defended  herself,  nor  yet  thanked  her  mistress,  as  she  used 
to  do.  She  seemed  sullen  and  indifferent.  She  left  the  presence 
of  that  kind  lady  and  most  sincere  friend  with  scarce  a  curtsy, 
and  with  such  a  pale,  downcast  countenance,  as  deeply  distressed 
her  benefactress  Then  was  it  the  painful  reflection  occurred, 
that  her  servant's  religious  principles  had  been  neglected  ;  that  her 
duty  as  a  servant  had  been  done  from  no  higher  motive  than  that 
of  pleasing  man  ;  and  that  when  she  failed  to  do  so,  and  received  a 
rebuke,  her  spirit  would  not  bear  it.  These  reflections  pressed 
themselves  upon  the  kind  lady's  mind,  and  she  resolved  to  do  her 
best  to  correct  for  the  future  that  which  appeared  so  deficient. 
Margaret  returned  to  the  kitchen  unaltered,  saving  in  feature  ; 


THE    HISTORY    OF   MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  1 79 

she  was  silent,  pale,  and  restless.  She  did  her  work  mechanically, 
but  something  appeared  to  be  working  upon  her  in  a  very  strange 
way.  She  could  not  sit  still  a  moment.  Sometimes  she  put  down 
her  work,  and  sat  looking  at  the  fire,  as  if  she  were  counting  the 
coals  upon  it.  At  one  time  she  would  rise  and  appear  to  go  in 
search  of  something,  without  knowing  what  she  went  for.  At 
another  time  she  would  bite  her  lips  and  mutter  something,  a3  if 
she  were  resolute  and  determined  upon  some  point  which  she  did 
not  reveal.  Her  fellow-servants  did  not  say  anything  to  her,  and 
took  as  little  notice  as  her  strange  manner  would  permit.  They 
all  considered  that  something  very  unpleasant  had  occurred 
between  herself  and  her  mistress.  Some  surmised  that  warning 
had  been  given ;  others  that  she  would  leave  of  her  own  accord  ; 
but  all  felt  sorry  that  one  who  had  been  so  highly  esteemed  should 
now  be  so  perverse. 

One  evening,  in  the  midst  of  these  domestic  arrangements  of  the 
kitchen,  when  all  the  servants  were  assembled,  a  knock  was  heard 
at  the  back-kitchen  door ;  the  girl  who  opened  it  immediately 
called  out,  "  Another  sailor  wants  to  see  you,  Margaret !  " 

Without  rising  from  her  seat,  as  she  was  accustomed  to  do  with 
alacrity  upon  such  occasions,  Margaret  petulantly  and  passionately 
replied,  loud  enough  for  the  sailor  to  hear  her  through  the  door  of 
the  kitchen,  which  now  stood  open,  "  Tell  the  fellow  to  go  about 
his  business  !  I  have  nothing  to  do  with,  or  to  say  to,  any  more 
sailors.     Tell  him  to  be  off !  " 

The  sailor  stepped  one  step  forward,  and  pitched  a  canvas  bag 
in  at  the  kitchen-door,  which  fell  with  a  loud  chink  upon  the 
bricks.  He  had  heard  the  words  of  Margaret,  and  was  off  in  a 
moment. 

The  reader  will  doubtless  surmise  that  this  was  none  other  than 
Will  Laud.  He  it  was  who,  since  that  fortunate  moment,  returned, 
with  all  his  prize-money,  on  purpose  to  give  it  to  Margaret,  for 
whom  he  had  kept  it,  intending  to  purchase  a  shop  at  Brandiston, 
or  one  of  the  neighbouring  villages,  where  she  might  like  to  live. 
The  bag  had  a  label,  directed 

"  To  Margaret  Catchpole, 

ft  John  Cobbold's,  Esq., 

"  CVff,  Ipswich:' 

Had  this  unfortunate  girl  been  in  a  different  mood,  she  might 

12 


l8o  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

have  recognised  the  voice,  as  she  once  did  on  that  memorable  night 
when  Mr.  William's  life  was  saved.  She  heard  the  rap,  and  the 
inquiry  for  her  ;  but,  knowing  her  mistress's  commands,  and 
believing  the  visitor  to  be  one  of  those  whom  she  had  styled 
impostors  and  thieves,  she  had,  with  considerable  energy  and 
irritability,  spoken  those  cutting  words,  which  sent  him  away  in 
despair. 

What  agony  now  struck  upon  the  heart  of  Margaret!  She 
started  at  the  sound  of  the  bag  as  it  fell  at  her  feet  ;  she  looked 
bewildered  for  one  moment  ;  the  truth  burst  upon  her,  and  she 
rushed  out  of  the  house  with  such  a  wild  shriek  as  pierced  the 
heart  of  every  one  who  heard  it.  She  ran  into  the  street.  The 
night  was  growing  dark  ;  but,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  green, 
against  the  garden  pales,  she  saw  a  sailor  standing  and  looking  at 
the  house.  She  ran  to  him,  seized  his  arm,  and  exclaimed,  "  Laud, 
is  it  you  ?  " 

He  replied,  "  Yes— hush  !  " 

"  Come  in,  then ;  come  into  the  house  ;  I  am  sure  you  may 
come  in." 

The  sailor  walked  on,  with  Margaret  by  his  side.  He  did  not 
speak.  This  Margaret  naturally  attributed  to  her  late  repulsive 
words,  and  she  now  said,  soothingly,  by  way  of  apologising  for  her 
harshness — 

"  I  did  not  intend  to  send  you  away.  I  have  lately  had  several 
sailors  to  speak  to  me  about  you,  and  T  was  only  too  glad  to  hear 
them  ;  but  my  mistress  gave  orders  to  me  this  day  not  to  have 
anything  more  to  do  with  them.  I  am  sure  she  did  not  mean  to 
send  you  away — neither  did  I  intend  it.     Come  back,  come  back  !  " 

"  Come  on,  come  on  !  "  said  the  sailor,  in  as  soft  accents  as  he 
could.  And,  by  this  time,  they  had  approached  the  old  granary 
wall,  at  the  back  of  the  park  stables.  Opposite  to  these  stables 
was  a  cowkeeper's  yard,  with  the  dwelling  inside  the  gates.  The 
gates  stood  open :  they  might  rather  be  termed  folding-doors,  for, 
when  shut,  no  one  could  see  through  any  part  but  the  keyhole. 
The  sailor  turned  in  here  with  Margaret,  as  if  he  knew  the  premises, 
and  immediately  closed  the  gates.  A  light  glanced  from  a  window 
in  the  cottage,  and  fell  upon  the  sailor's  face.  In  an  instant  Mar- 
garet recognised  the  hated  features  of  John  Luff*. 

The  poor  girl  was  paralysed  ;  she  was  completely  in  the  tiger's 
claws  ;  she  could  not  speak,  her  heart  so  swelled  with  agony.     She 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  l8l 

thought  of  this  monster's  cruelty,  and  believed  him  to  be  capable 
of  any  desperate  deed.  She  recovered  sufficient  presence  of  mind, 
however,  to  be  resolved  to  grapple  with  him,  should  he  have  an^ 
evil  purpose  in  view.  She  retreated  a  few  steps  toward  the  gates. 
He  suspected  by  this  that  she  had  discovered  who  he  was,  and  he 
threw  off  the  mask  in  a  moment. 

"  You  know  who  I  am,  I  see  ;  and  I  know  you.  I  do  not  want 
to  harm  you  ;  but  I  want  to  know  something  from  you,  wThich,  if 
you  tell  me  truly,  you  shall  receive  no  injury  ;  but,  if  you  do  not 
tell  me,  I  tell  you  plainly  that,  as  you  are  now  in  my  power,  so 
you  shall  never  escape  me.  You  spoke  just  now  of  "Will  Laud 
Now,  no  tacking  about  ;  bear  up  at  once,  and  come  to  the  point. 
Tell  me  where  he  can  be  found." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  Margaret. 

"  No  lies,  girl !  You  do  know.  You  were  expecting  him  from 
Portsmouth  this  very  night.  I  knew  he  was  coming  home  with 
his  prize-money  ;  so  did  you.  I  don't  want  his  money,  but  I  want 
him.  I  have  sworn  to  take  him,  dead  or  alive,  and  have  him  I 
will.  You  have  seen  him  :  I  have  not.  Now  tell  me  where  he  is, 
and  I  will  let  you  go  ;  but  if  you  tell  me  not,  down  you  shall 
go  headlong  into  the  well  at  the  bottom  of  this  yard  !  " 

The  truth  burst  upon  the  poor  girl's  mind,  that  this  fellow  was 
watching  Laud  to  murder  him.  She  was  now  convinced  that  it 
was  Laud  who  came  to  the  back-kitchen  door,  and  that  he  must 
have  gone  over  the  garden -palings  towards  the  Woodbridge  Road, 
instead  of  going  into  the  street.  With  a  woman's  heart  beating 
high  at  the  danger  of  her  lover,  she  inwardly  rejoiced,  even  at  this 
dreadful  moment,  that  her  sudden  words  had  perhaps  saved  Laud's 
life.  She  forgot  her  own  loss,  and  her  spirit  rose  to  reply  firmly 
and  boldly  to  the  cowardly  rascal  who  threatened  her — 

"  I  do  not  know  where  Laud  is.  I  wish  I  did  ;  and  I  would  let 
him  know  that  such  a  villain  as  you  are  ought  to  be  hanged." 

The  monster  seized  her,  gagged  her  mouth  with  a  tow-knot,  and 
tried  to  pull  her  away  from  the  gate.  She  had  seized  hold  of  the 
long  iron  bar,  which  was  fastened  to  a  low  post,  and  fitted  into  a 
staple  on  the  door.  She  thought  she  heard  voices  outside  the 
gates,  speaking  of  her.  Just  as  the  villain  lifted  her  from  the 
ground  to  fulfil  his  determined  purpose,  she  swung  the  iron  against 
the  door  with  such  force,  that  the  servants  outside  were  convinced 
something  was  wrong.     They  called,  but  received  no  answer.     They 


1 82  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

heard  footsteps  receding  from  the  door,  and  called  to  Smith,  the 
cowkeeper,  to  know  what  was  the  matter.  They  did  not  receive 
any  immediate  answer,  but  a  light  streamed  under  the  door,  and 
in  another  moment  they  heard  a  scuffle,  and  Smith's  voice  calling 
for  help. 

With  their  united  force  they  burst  the  gates  open,  and  ran  down 
the  yard.  The  candle  was  burning  on  the  ground,  and  Smith 
prostrate  beside  it.  In  a  moment  after,  they  heard  the  bucket  of 
the  well  descending  with  rapidity,  and  then  a  sudden  splash,  as  if 
a  heavy  body  had  reached  the  bottom  of  it. 

Smith  recovered  quickly  from  his  fall,  and  declared  he  saw  a 
sailor-looking  man,  carrying  a  female  in  his  arms,  and  he  firmly 
believed  that  she  was  thrown  down  the  well.  He  got  his  lantern, 
and  directed  the  men  to  take  down  the  long  church  ladder,  which 
was  hung  up  under  the  roof  of  the  cowhouse,  and  bring  it  after 
him.  The  ladder  was  put  down  the  well,  and  Smith  descended 
with  his  lantern,  and  called  out  that  there  was  a  woman  in  the 
well. 

"  Unhank  the  bucket :  tie  the  rope  round  her  body,  and  ease  her 
up  the  ladder  ;  we  can  help  you  to  get  her  out  so." 

This  was  done  :  and  when  she  was  drawn  up,  the  servants  recog- 
nised the  features  of  Margaret  Catchpole. 

Smith  was  quite  sure  the  man  he  saw  was  in  a  sailor's  dress.  It 
was  a  providential  circumstance  that  the  very  act  of  gagging  had 
prevented  the  water  getting  to  her  lungs,  and  so  saved  her  from 
drowning.  She  breathed  hard,  and  harder  still  when  the  gag  was 
removed,  and  was  very  black  in  the  face.  She  had  received  a 
severe  blow  on  the  head  from  her  fall  against  the  bucket,  the  iron 
of  which  had  caught  her  gown,  and  was  the  cause  of  its  descending 
with  her  to  the  water.  She  might  have  had  a  severer  blow  against 
the  side  of  the  well  but  for  this  circumstance.  She  was  quite  in- 
sensible, and  in  this  state  was  carried  home,  where  she  was  laid 
between  warm  blankets,  and  the  doctor  sent  for.  She  was  quLkly 
bled,  and  was  soon  restored  to  conscious  animation. 

As  she  revived,  she  refused  to  communicate  anything  on  the 
subject  of  the  disaster ;  and  it  was  thought  best,  at  that  time,  not 
to  say  much  to  her  about  it.  Conjectures  were  much  raised,  and 
the  matter  was  much  talked  over.  The  bag,  which  was  opened  by 
her  master,  was  found  to  contain  one  hundred  and  thirty  guineas 
in  gold  and  silver  coin,    Mr.  Cobbold  took  charge  of  it,  and  scaled 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  1 83 

it  -with  his  own  seal.  From  all  that  could  be  learned,  it  seemed 
that  a  sailor,  whom  all  now  conjectured  to  be  Laud,  had  thrown 
the  money  in  at  the  door,  and  Margaret  had  rushed  out  after  him  ; 
that  she  had  overtaken  him  ;  and  that  some  violent  altercation  had 
taken  place  between  them,  which  had  led  to  this  most  extraordinary 
act.  The  whole  affair  seemed  to  be  fraught  with  reckless  despera- 
tion. Could  anything  be  more  so  than  to  throw  such  a  sum  of 
money  at  a  person's  foot,  and  then  to  throw  that  person  down  a 
well  ?  Why  do  such  a  deed  ?  Was  he  jealous  ?  Had  he  heard  of 
the  many  sailors  who  had  lately  made  Margaret's  acquaintance  ? 
It  might  be,  thought  som?,  that  he  had  suddenly  returned,  and 
hearing  of  her  conduct,  had  put  the  worst  construction  upon  it  ;" 
and,  in  a  desperate  state,  had  been  foolishly  generous,  but  too  fatally 
jealous  to  hear  any  explanation.  These  ideas  passed  through  the 
minds  of  more  than  one  of  the  family. 

Margaret  slowly  recovered  from  the  fever  which  had  settled  in 
her  frame,  and  greatly  reduced  it.  She  kept  her  bed  for  several 
weeks  ;  she  kept  her  tongue,  too,  as  still  and  as  free  from  com- 
munication with  any  one  as  she  possibly  could  under  the  circum- 
stances. She  did  not  say  anything  of  her  own  accord,  even  to  her 
anxious  and  beloved  mistress. 

It  was  soon  circulated  about  that  an  atrocious  attempt  at  murder 
had  been  made  in  the  parish  of  St.  Margaret's,  and  the  authorities 
of  the  town  took  it  up,  and  made  inquiries  into  the  matter. 
Understanding  that  the  young  female  was  in  too  weak  a  state  to 
have  her  deposition  taken,  they  did  not  visit  her,  but  a  reward  was 
offered  for  the  apprehension  of  the  man,  and  his  person  was 
described  by  the  cowkeeper. 

There  was  but  one  person  to  whom  Margaret  opened  her  lips 
willingly  upon  the  subject,  and  that  was  her  old  friend  and  medical 
attendant,  Mr.  Stebbing.  He  learned  from  her,  that  it  was  not 
Laud  who  had  thrown  her  down  the  well,  but  a  fellow  named 
Luff,  one  of  his  former  evil  companions.  She  told  the  doctor  her 
belief  that  Laud  was  the  person  who  had  unintentionally  been 
driven  away  by  her  on  that  unfortunate  night  ;  ';  And  I  fear,"  she 
added,  "  that  he  will  be  induced  by  my  seeming  harshness  to 
return  to  his  old  cour.-cs.  He  will  never  forgive  me— I  know  he 
never  will  !  Oh,  that  I  could  have  had  one  word  w-ith  him !  If  I 
could  but  get  well,  I  would  try  and  find  him.  Oh,  doctor,  I  am 
60  anxious  to  get  well  !     Pray,  help  me  ! " 


184  THE   HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

"This  is  the  plain  reason,  my  girl,  why  you  are  so  slow  in  re- 
covering. I  knew  you  had  something  upon  your  mind  that  kept 
you  back  ;  and  now  that  you  have  told  me  thus  much,  let  me  speak 
to  you  in  my  own  way.  I  tell  you  honestly,  Margaret,  I  never 
should  think  a  man  worth  having  who  took  himself  off  in  that 
kind  of  way.  If,  as  you  say,  you  refused  to  see  a  sailor  who  did 
not  give  his  name,  the  man  ought  to  have  been  pleased,  rather  than 
displeased,  if  he  really  loved  you.  If  he  was  not  a  fool,  he  would 
naturally  think  it  would  be  the  very  first  thing  a  girl  with  any 
proper  feeling  would  say.  Take  my  word,  Margaret,  and  I  am 
somewhat  more  experienced  than  you  are,  that  if  Laud  is  worth 
your  having,  he  will  soon  be  here  again.  But  don't  you  think  of 
running  after  him.  If  he  comes  back  in  a  few  days,  well ;  but  if 
not,  I  wish  I  might  be  able  to  persuade  you  not  to  think  of  him  at 
all.     What  could  induce  Luff  to  attempt  to  murder  you  ?  " 

"  He  threatened,  that  unless  I  told  him  where  Laud  was,  he 
would  throw  me  down  the  well.  I  imagine  that  Laud  having 
escaped  from  the  gang  of  smugglers,  this  villain  was  sworn  either 
to  be  revenged  upon  him  for  some  quarrel,  or  else  he  had  promised 
Captain  Bargood,  his  employer,  to  bring  him  back  again.  I  was 
determined  not  to  tell  him  that  Laud  had  been  to  the  house,  and 
the  fellow  took  this  desperate  revenge  on  me.  But,  thank  God,  his 
purpose  is  frustrated  !  You  know  Laud,  doctor,  as  well  as  I  do. 
I  can  conceive  that  my  speech  took  him  so  completely  by  surprise, 
that,  after  he  had  been  saving  up  all  his  money  for  me,  and  had  been 
congratulating  his  mind  upon  my  joy  at  his  change,  my  words 
must  have  cut  him  to  the  quick,  and  have  driven  him  away  in 
desperation." 

"  I  wish  I  could  think  so,  Margaret  ;  but  my  idea  is,  that  if  he 
had  been  the  altered  man  you  picture  him,  he  would  never  have 
conducted  himself  in  that  way.  I  tell  you  plainly,  that  I  should 
be  much  more  apt  to  think  he  liked  somebody  else  better  than 
you  ;  and  that  he  threw  down  the  money  merely  because  his  con- 
science told  him  he  had  wronged  you  ;  and  made  him  feel  that  he 
ought  to  make  you  some  recompense.  If  he  does  not  come  back 
in  a  few  days,  I  shall  be  confirmed  in  this  opinion." 

The  poor  girl  had  never  looked  at  the  matter  in  this  light.  She 
felt  a  strange  sensation  creeping  over  her  mind,  and,  in  the  weak 
state  she  then  was  in,  she  had  a  superstitious  dread  of  her  sister's 
last  words — "Margaret,  you   will   never   marry   William   Laud." 


THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  1 85 

The  words  seemed  to  tingle  in  her  ear,  and  to  come,  at  this  moment, 
with  redoubled  force  ;  she  s'^ook  her  head,  sighed,  and  thanked  the 
doctor  for  his  good  advice. 

"  I  shall  explain  these  matters  to  your  mistress,  Margaret,"  said 
Mr.  Stebbing.  "  It  will  remove  all  erroneous  ideas,  and  may  spare 
you  some  pain  and  trouble.  You  must  rouse  yourself  ;  the 
magistrates  are  daily  asking  me  about  you  ;  I  have  told  them  that 
you  have  too  virulent  a  fever  upon  you  at  present  to  make  it  safe 
for  them  to  see  you  ;  and,  depend  upon  it,  they  will  not  be  over- 
anxious to  run  any  risk." 

"Pray,  sir,  could  not  you  take  down  what  I  have  said,  as  well 
as  having  any  other  person  to  do  it  ?  " 

"  If  I  do,  Margaret,  it  must  be  read  to  you  before  two  justices 
of  the  peace,  and  you  will  have  to  swear  to  it." 

"Well,  sir,  so  it  must  be  then." 

And  the  good  doctor  left  his  patient,  and  gladly  explained  the 
exact  state  of  the  case  to  her  mistress. 

It  was  not  very  difficult  for  that  lady  to  form  her  own  conclusions 
now.  She  was  of  Margaret's  opinion,  that  Laud's  first  step  would 
be  to  rejoin  the  smugglers.  She  thought  that  he  would  become  a 
more  desperate  character  than  ever.  Instability  of  purpose  was 
always  Laud's  failing.  When  Margaret  got  about  again,  her 
mistress,  having  considered  all  the  circumstances,  thought  it  best 
that  she  should  go  home  to  her  parent's  roof  for  a  time.  "As  you 
are  so  much  better,''  said  she  to  her  one  day,  "  and  have  been  so 
much  shaken  lately,  and  your  deposition  has  been  taken  before 
the  magistrates,  I  would  strongly  recommend  a  little  change  for 
the  benefit  of  your  health.  The  doctor  thinks  it  advisable.  You 
can  go  and  stay  a  while  with  your  Uncle  and  Aunt  Leader,  or  you 
can  go  and  see  your  father  and  younger  brother.  You  may  go 
when  you  please.  Remember  that  there  are  one  hundred  and 
thirty  guineas  in  your  master's  hands,  to  be  appropriated  to  your 
use.  Your  father  or  your  uncle  may  wish  to  consult  us  for  your 
benefit.  We  shall  be  happy  to  see  them  for  such  purpose  at  any 
time.  If  you  wish  to  enter  into  any  business,  you  shall  have  our 
best  advice  and  assistance.  I  think  change  will  do  you  good.  If 
you  do  not  settle  in  any  way  for  yourself,  and  still  prefer  service, 
we  shall  be  glad  to  receive  you  amongst  us  again  when  you  have 
recruited  your  health  and  spirits." 

"  I  do  not,"  Margaret  replied,  "want  anything  beyond  my  wages. 


1 86  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

I  do  not  consider  that  money  my  own,  and  shall  never  appropriate 
any  of  it  to  my  own  use.  It  belongs  to  Will  Laud.  I  feel  very 
much  obliged  to  both  my  master  and  yourself  for  the  interest  you 
have  always  taken  in  me,  and  for  your  offer  of  future  assistance. 
I  will  consult  with  my  friends.  I  certainly  do  not  feel  so  happy 
as  I  used  to  do.-' 

Her  kind  mistress  did  not  choose  to  remind  her  of  the  great 
alteration  of  her  temper  and  conduct  of  late,  because  she  did  not 
wish  to  revive  old  grievances.  And,  as  she  was  about  to  leave  her 
for  a  time,  with  a  possibility  of  some  chance  of  settlement  without 
service,  she  let  the  matter  rest. 

Margaret,  shortly  after  this  conversation,  took  leave  of  as  good 
a  mistress  as  a  servant  ever  had.  If  she  did  not  feel  quite  the 
warmth  of  attachment  to  her  that  she  had  formerly  done,  the  fault 
lay  in  herself,  not  in  that  benevolent  lady,  who  at  that  time  and 
ever  after,  manifested  for  her  the  sincerest  kindness. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

CHANGE  OF  SCENE  AND  CHANGE  OF  PLACE. 

Soon  after  Margaret's  recovery,  and  the  taking  of  her  deposition 
before  Colonel  Keale,  Mr.  Gibson,  and  Mr.  Seekamp,  justices  of 
ihe  peace,  she  took  leave  of  the  affectionate  friends  she  had  gained 
in  the  family  at  St.  Margaret's  Green.  She  had  permission  to  go 
and  stay  as  long  as  she  felt  necessary  for  the  recruiting  of  her 
spirits,  and  accordingly  she  went  to  Nacton.  She  found  her  aged 
father  and  her  younger  brother  living  in  the  same  cottage,  and  in 
better  work  and  condition  than  when  she  had  left  them.  They 
gladly  welcomed  her,  and  she  spent  a  peaceful  quiet  time  with 
them,  though  painful  thoughts  intruded  themselves  upon  her  mind. 
Old  and  joyful,  as  well  as  joyless,  associations  crowded  upon  her  ; 
she  thought  of  her  career  of  fortune  and  misfortune,  with  many  a 
deep  and  painful  sigh.  Oh!  had  religious  instruction  then  fortified 
that  mind  as  it  did  years  afterwards,  Avhat  comfort  might  it  not 
have  gained  even  in  this  moment  of  adversity — what  pain  might 
it  not  have  turned  aside !  Her  father  soon  perceived  that  dis- 
appointment was  gnawing  at  Margaret's  heart,  the  more  keenly, 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  1 87 

as  it  found  stronger  food  to  feed  upon,  from  the  past  revival  of 
warm  hopes,  now  severely  blighted.  The  old  man  sought  her 
confidence,  and  found  that,  by  conversation  with  her,  he  lightened 
the  heaviness  of  her  load. 

Margaret  told  her  father  the  exact  state  of  her  mind,  and  did 
not  conceal  anything  from  him. 

"I  much  fear,"  said  the  old  man,  "that  he  has  returned  to 
the  coast  again,  and  perhaps  to  his  former  vicious  companions. 
Not  that  I  have  heard  anything  of  him;  but  I  know  that  the  coast- 
guard are  as  active  as  they  ever  were  in  the  discharge  of  their 
desperate  duty.  I  cannot  think  of  any  other  method  of  ascer- 
taining the  fact,  than  by  sending  your  brother  Edward  down  to  the 
coast  for  a  time,  and  let  him  learn  what  he  can.  He  is  a  very 
sharp  young  fellow,  and  I  can  tell  you,  Margaret,  that  for  activity 
of  head,  heart,  and  limb,  not  one  of  my  boys  ever  exceeded  him." 
"  I  think  the  scheme  might  answer,"  replied  Margaret :  "  at  all 
events,  it  is  worth  trying.  I  shall  feel  more  satisfied,  let  the  result 
be  what  it  may.  I  will  give  him  part  of  my  wages,  so  that  he  shall 
lose  nothing  by  the  trip." 

In  the  evening  the  plan  was  proposed  to  the  young  man,  who 
readily  entered  into  his  sister's  views  upon  the  subject.  He  would 
ask  his  master  for  a  week  or  ten  days,  or  a  fortnight,  if  required. 

Margaret  gave  him  strict  charge  to  explain  to  "Will  Laud  the 
circumstance"  of  her  having  so  hastily  uttered  those  words  which 
had  given  him  such  offence  ;  that  it  was  her  mistress's  command 
that  she  should  see  no  more  sailors.  "  Be  cautious,"  she  added  ; 
"  avoid  that  villain  Luff  ;  for  in  his  clutches  you  would  be  no 
more  than  a  lamb  beneath  a  tigers  paw.  You  must  visit  all  the 
different  places  along  the  coast  from  Felixstow  to  Aldeburgh.  If 
any  of  the  coast-guard  speak  to  you,  tell  them  honestly  who  you 
are  ;  and  if  you  see  young  Edward  Barry,  you  may  tell  him  all 
the  truth.  He  will  help  you,  as  he  promised  to  befriend  me,  should 
I  ever  require  his  aid.  If  any  private  opportunity  of  speaking  to 
Laud  should  occur,  tell  him  the  money  is  all  safe,  and  shall  be 
employed  according  to  his  directions.  I  consider  it  his  property, 
though  directed  to  me.  Go,  Edward.  I  shall  spend  many  a  restless 
hour  until  you  return." 

Edward  Catchpole  was  soon  on  his  road  to  Felixstow.  His  first 
attempt  was  to  find  out  the  old  ferryman,  Laud's  father,  and  ascer- 
tain if  he  knew  anything  of  him.     But  he  learned  that  the  old  man 


1 88  THE   HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

had  quietly  departed  this  life,  soon  after  receiving  the  news  of  his 
son's  engagement  with  the  French,  in  Lord  Howe's  victory  of  the 
1st  of  June.  The  only  thing  like  a  footmark  of  Laud  was  in  the 
report  given  by  some  of  the  neighbours,  that  a  sailor  had  been  there 
some  weeks  ago,  making  inquiries  about  the  old  ferryman  ;  who, 
ascertaining,  however,  that  he  was  dead,  went  away,  and  no  one 
heard  anything  more  of  him. 

Edward  next  went  on  from  Felixstow  to  Bawdsey  Ferry,  and 
took  up  his  quarters  at  the  Sun  Inn.  Here  he  seemed  as  one  come 
to  the  sea-side  for  health  ;  for  he  was  to  be  seen  wandering  along 
the  shore,  and  talking  whenever  he  could  with  the  sailors.  But  he 
could  gain  no  tidings,  directly  or  indirectly,  of  the  person  he  sought. 
He  shifted  his  position  from  the  Sun  to  the  Old  Beach  House,  at 
the  mouth  of  the  river  Aide,  now  known  by  the  name  of  the  Life- 
Boat  public-house,  then  kept  by  Jacob  Morrells,  a  pilot. 

Great  preparations  were  then  making  for  building  forts  and 
Martello  towers  along  the  coast,  to  oppose  any  invasion.  Numbers 
of  surveyors,  and  workmen  in  the  employ  of  Government,  fre- 
quented the  Beach  House.  The  conversation  sometimes  turned 
upon  smuggling,  and  young  Catchpole's  heart  beat  high  at  such 
moments,  with  the  hope  of  some  clue  to  Laud.  Nothing,  however, 
could  he  elicit,  except  that,  as  so  many  Government  men  were 
about  at  that  time,  the  smugglers  were  not  likely  to  be  carrying 
on  a  very  brisk  trade.  Still  it  was  carried  on,  and  Captain  Bargood 
was,  it  was  said,  as  busy  as  ever. 

He  next  visited  Boyton  and  Sudbourn,  and  Orford.  He  lodged 
at  the  Mariner's  Compass,  then  kept  by  an  old  weather-beaten 
sailor,  who  often  put  him  across  from  the  quay  on  the  banks  of  the 
Aide,  to  the  North  Vere  ;  and  here  he  used  to  spend  so  many  hours, 
that  the  coast-guard,  who  kept  a  watch  upon  his  movements,  sus- 
pected that  his  countryman's  dress  was  only  a  ruse  to  hide  some 
sinister  intention.  They  observed,  however,  that  he  did  not  avoid 
them,  but  rather  sought  opportunity  for  their  acquaintance.  A 
more  dreary  place  than  this  North  Vere  is  scarcely  to  be  found  on 
all  the  coast  of  Great  Britain.  It  is  a  mass  of  shingle  nearly  twenty 
miles  long,  in  some  places  nearly  a  mile  broad,  in  others,  only  a 
few  hundred  yards.  This  wall  of  pebbles  separates  the  river  Aide 
from  the  ocean.  The  bank  reaches  from  Hollesley  Bay  to  Alde- 
burgh.  The  sea  and  the  river  are  very  deep  along  the  shelving 
banks  on  either  side. 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  1 89 

Thousands  upon  thousand?  of  sea-birds  build,  or  rather  lay  their 
eggs,  upon  this  desolate  bed  of  shingle.  A  few  wild,  straggling 
plants  of  seakale,  and  very  long,  thin,  sickly  spires  of  grass, 
occasionally  shoot  up  through  the  stones  ;  but  there  is  no  other 
vegetation,  except  here  and  there  in  some  few  hollows  in  this 
desert  of  stones,  where  a  little  clay,  mixed  with  the  sea-fowl  dung, 
formed  a  green  patch.  These  spots  used  to  be  much  frequented 
by  smugglers,  which,  from  their  sunken  situations,  used  to  hide 
both  them  and  their  goods  from  view.  Nothing  prominent  can  be 
seen  for  miles  round  this  coast,  except  the  Orford  lights,  which 
stand  conspicuous  enough  about  midway  between  Hollesley  and 
Aldeburgh. 

The  poor  fellows  who  acted  as  preventive-service  men  in  the 
coast-o-uard  had  no  sinecure  in  this  dreadful  situation.  The  sun 
burnt  them  by  day,  and  the  wind,  from  whatever  quarter  it  blew, 
and  especially  in  the  winter  nights,  was  cutting  and  cold  ;  and 
from  the  exposure  between  two  waters,  the  sea  and  the  river,  it 
roared  like  the  discharge  of  batteries.  In  some  of  the  hollo W3 
these  poor  men  u-ed  to  construct  huts  of  such  rude  materials  as 
came  to  hand  ;  old  pieces  of  wrecks,  or  broken-up  boats,  which 
they  covered  with  seaweed,  collected  after  a  storm.  These  served 
to  break  the  east  winds  which  blew  over  the  German  Ocean,  in 
their  terrible  night-watches,  which  they  were  forced  to  keep  pretty 
constantly,  as  they  were  watched,  though  they  were  watchers. 
Many  were  the  desperate  struggles  upon  this  wild  beach  between 
these  brave  men  and  the  smugglers,  in  which  hard  fighting,  and 
too  often  death-blows,  told  the  desperate  nature  of  the  service. 

"  Well,  my  man,  what  brings  you  upon  this  coast  ?  "  said  one  of 
the  officers  to  Edward  Catchpole,  as  he  was  sauntering  lazily  along 
the  sea-side. 

"  Oh,"  replied  Edward,  "  I  have  got  a  holiday,  and  I  wish 
to  spend  a  day  or  two  by  the  sea-side." 

"  A  day  or  two  !  Why,  you  have  been  here  six  days,  and  you 
have  been  staying  at  Hollesley,  and  Boyton,  and  Felixstow.  Come, 
come,  young  man,  you  are  up  to  some  work  which  may  get  you 
into  trouble.     You  had  better  take  my  advice,  and  sheer  off." 

"  I  have  no  unlawful  calling  ;  if  I  had,  I  might  deserve  your 
scrutiny.  You  think,  perhaps,  that  I  am  connected  with  smugglers, 
and  am  here  for  the  purpose  of  giving  them  information.  I  am, 
however,  much  more  desirous  of  receiving  than  of  giving  informa- 


190  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

tion.  I  never  saw  a  smuggler's  boat  in  my  life.  You  suspect  me, 
I  see  ;  but  what  of  ? — tell  me." 

"  I  ought  to  be  suspicious  of  the  truth  of  what  you  tell  me. 
Bat  I  never  saw  you  before,  and  your  looks  do  not  betray  deceit." 

kt  Are  you  sure  you  never  saw  me  before  ?  Perhaps  you  may  be 
mistaken.  I  have  seen  you  before  to-day,  and  have  spoken  to  you 
before  this  day.     I  know  you,  if  you  do  not  know  me." 

"I  certainly  do  not  know  you,  and  assuredly  have  never  spoken 
to  you  till  now.  My  memory  is  pretty  accurate  as  to  persons  and 
faces,  yet  neither  the  one  nor  the  other  are  familiar  to  me  in  you." 

"  Your  face  is  familiar  to  me.  I  never  saw  you  more  than  twice, 
and  then  you  spoke  to  me,  and  very  kindly  too." 

"  You  certaiuly  puzzle  me.  What  is  your  name,  and  whence  do 
you  come  ?  " 

"You  are  Edward  Barry,  and  I  am  Edward  Catchpole.  Do  you 
remember  the  lad  that  drove  his  sister  down  to  the  boat-house 
at  Bawdsey  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  remember  you  now,  though  you  are  greatly  changed. 
But  what  brings  you  here  ?  " 

"That  which  keeps  you  here  night  and  day!  I  am  upon  the 
look-out  for  the  smugglers." 

"  You  may  look  a  long  time  if  you  are  looking  for  Will  Laud. 
Do  you  not  know  that  he  is  in  the  British  navy  ?  " 

"I  knew  that  he  was  so,  but  I  do  not  know  that  he  is.  My  sister 
told  me  if  I  met  you  to  make  you  acquainted  with  her  trials,  and 
to  ask  your  assistance." 

Here  the  young  man  told  him  the  events  which  had  taken  place, 
and  her  fears  that  Laud  had  returned  to  his  old  career. 

"  I  do  not  think  he  has.  His  old  companions  are  as  active  as 
ever  ;  but  I  heard  that  he  had  split  with  them,  and  that,  when  he 
was  taken  by  the  pressgang,  he  was  quarrelling  with  Luff,  who,  as 
I  understood,  escaped,  and  swore  to  finish  his  work  upon  Laud 
whenever  he  could  catch  him.  There  is  not  a  man  among  us  but 
would  run  any  risk  to  deliver  that  fellow  up  to  justice.  We  have 
had  orders  from  Government  to  secure  him  if  we  cm,  and  the 
reward  is  extended  to  us.  lie  is  a  daring  wretch,  and  knowing,  as 
he  must  do,  our  determination  to  take  him,  it  is  my  conviction  that 
he  will  never  be  taken  alive.  But,  if  you  wish  to  see  a  bit  of  sharp 
work,  we  have  got  information  that  he  is  now  off  this  coast,  pre- 
paring to  land  a  cargo  on  the  Vere.     If  you  have  a  mind  to  lend  a 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE,  iqt 

hand  to    take  him,   you   can  be  of   great   service    to  us,    without 
running  much  danger  in  work  that  you  are  not  accustomed  to.'' 
"That  I  will  do  gladly." 

"  'Well,  now  listen.  You  cannot  walk  five  hundred  yards  along 
the  brow  of  the  beach  without  meeting  one  of  my  men.  They  are 
all  upon  the  shore  in  readiness,  and  have  had  their  eyes  upon  you, 
though  you  have  not  seen  them.  Look  along  the  line  of  the  coast 
against  the  upper  ridge  of  shingle  at  the  spring-tide  mark, — you 
eee  nothing.  If  you  walk  along  that  line  five  hundred  yards  from 
where  you  stand,  you  will  see  a  head  pop  up  from  the  shingle  and 
salute  you.  They  are  placed  there,  and  have  buried  themselves  in 
the  shingle  on  purpose  to  watch  your  motions.  You  are  suspected 
to  be  the  person  appointed  to  hoist  a  white  flag,  opposite  Haveigate 
Island,  as  a  signal  that  the  boat  may  come  ashore.  I  implicitly 
believe  what  you  have  told  me  of  yourself,  and,  if  you  will  assist 
me,  I  will  in  return  render  you  all  the  assistance  I  can  in  search  of 
your  object.-' 

"  I  will  do  anything  you  appoint  me  to  do  within  my  power. " 
':  I  ask  nothing  of  you,  but  what  you  can  easily  perform.  Re- 
member the  watchword  which  I  now  give  you.  It  is  '  King  George 
for  ever,'  an  expression  you  must  use  if  any  of  my  men  salute  you. 
What  I  want  you  to  do  is,  to  pass  along  the  whole  line  in  the 
direction  of  the  spring-tide  mark,  which  is  the  highest  point  that 
the  tide  reaches.  Every  five  hundred  yards  you  will  find  yourself 
spoken  to  by  one  of  my  men,  who  will  say,  '  Who  goes  there  ?  ' 
Do  you  reply,  '  King  George  for  ever  !  '  They  will  say,  '  Hurrah  ! 
pass  on.'  You  will  find  fourteen  men,  which  will  tell  you  that  four 
miles  of  this  coast  is  strictly  guarded  to-night.  Pass  along  the 
whole  line  ;  but  note  when  you  come  to  the  seventh  man,  and  lay 
this  pole,  and  white  flag  which  is  bound  to  it.  about  twenty  yards 
on  this  side  of  him.  You  will  observe  that,  at  that  point,  a  tall 
poplar  tree  in  Sudbourn  Grove,  on  the  horizon,  will  be  in  a  direct 
line  with  you  and  the  Shepherd's  Cottage  on  Havergate  Island. 
Leave  the  flag-pole  there  until  you  return  from  going  the  v  hole 
line.  Take  this  keg  over  your  shoulder,  arvd  replenish  every  man's 
can  as  you  pass  along,  for  they  will  have  sharp  work  to-night,  and 
it  is  cold  work  lying  in  suspense.  As  you  come  back  from  the  line, 
unfurl  the  flag,  and  fix  the  staff  strongly  in  the  ground.  The  wind 
blows  off-shore,  and  will  soon  carry  it  streaming  outward.  It  will 
then  be  your  duty  to  take  up  your  position  at  a  respectful  distance 


I92  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

from  the  spot,  and  see  that  no  one  from  the  land  removes  the  flag. 
I  strongly  suspect  that  the  old  shepherd,  who  lives  in  the  Red 
Cottage  on  Havergate  Island,  is  the  man  who  will  come  to  remove 
it  if  he  can.  If  you  can  secure  him  without  our  aid,  so  much  the 
better  ;  but  if  not,  just  put  your  lips  to  this  whistle  which  I  give 
you,  and  assistance  will  be  close  at  hand.  At  all  events,  the  old 
fellow  must  be  secured,  and  carried  back  to  his  cottage,  and  be 
bound  to  his  bed.  And  you  must  remain  with  him  until  night 
draws  on.  Then  put  the  old  man's  light,  an  oil  lamp,  which  you 
will  find  standing  under  the  bed,  into  the  little  window  looking 
towards  the  sea,  which  is  at  the  gable-end  to  the  east. 

"  Then  you  must  come  over  again  with  his  boat,  and  mind  and 
shove  her  the  full  length  of  her  moorings  into  the  water  before  you 
fix  her  anchor  on  the  shore,  or  the  falling  tide  will  leave  her  high 
and  dry.  Then  return  to  the  place,  where  you  can  bury  your- 
self in  the  shingle.  If  I  mistake  not,  as  soon  as  the  moon  is 
high>  you  will  see  a  boat  come  ashore  with  a  cargo.  There  is  a 
dell  not  far  off  the  flag,  to  which  they  will  probably  carry  all  their 
tubs.  You  must  not  be  seen  by  them.  You  will  easily  see  how 
my  men  manage  to  hide  themselves.  Now  be  very  particular  in 
noting  what  I  tell  you,  or  the  lives  of  many  may  be  forfeited. 
After  the  men  have  landed  their  goods,  two  of  them  will  go 
across  to  the  river,  to  see  if  the  shepherd's  boat  is  moored  ready 
for  them.  When  they  come  back,  you  will  hear  them  say  '  Up ! 
all's  right  ! '  They  will  then  each  take  up  his  burthen,  and  proceed 
with  it  to  the  river's  side.  I  expect  there  will  be  ten  or  twelve  of 
them.  As  soon  as  they  are  all  fairly  out  of  the  dell,  do  you  give  a 
good  loud  long  whistle.  By  this  time,  my  men,  who  will  have  seen 
the  boat  coming  ashore,  will  be  getting  on  their  hands  and  knees 
close  up  to  you.  The  smugglers  will  throw  down  their  loads,  and 
hasten  to  their  boat ;  we  shall  be  ready  to  receive  them.  But, 
whatever  you  do,  lie  still,  and  you  will  be  out  of  danger  ;  and  if 
you  have  a  mind  to  see  what  a  battle  is,  you  will  have  a  good 
view  of  it.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  risk  your  life,  you  will  probably 
see  some  of  us  killed,  and  should  I  be  among  the  number,  just 
remember,  that  in  the  bottom  of  my  cartridge-box  there  is  a  letter 
to  my  sister,  which  I  will  get  you  to  deliver.  Do  you  think  you 
fully  understand  me  ?  and  are  you  now  willing  to  help  us  ?  It 
is  singular  that  I  should  find  in  you  the  very  instrument  we 
wanted.     I  was  about  to  have  you   secured,  and  to  perform  the 


THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  19J 

part  myself  ;  but  ten  to  one  if  the  old  shepherd  saw  me,  but  he 
would  smell  powder,  and  keep  at  home  ;  but,  seeing  you,  a  country 
youth,  he  will  not  mind  you,  but  will  come  to  the  scratch.  You 
Bee  how  much  depends  upon  your  courage." 

Young  Edward  Catchpole  had  long  made  up  his  mind,  notwith- 
standing all  the  danger,  to  run  any  risk  sooner  than  give  up  the 
enterprise  ;  like  his  sister  he  possessed  great  personal  courage,  and 
was  quick,  intelligent,  and  active.  He  also  looked  upon  the  cause 
as  a  good  one  ;  it  was  for  his  king  and  country,  and  for  a  sister 
whom  he  loved.  He  had  given  up  the  idea  of  meeting  with  Laud, 
and  thought  only  of  securing  the  vile  assassin  whose  crimes  had 
reached  su  h  an  enormous  pitch.  He  entered  upon  his  commission 
immediately,  pursued  his  career  along  the  high- water  mark  of  the 
beach,  and,  true  enough,  about  every  five  hundred  yards,  a  head 
popped  up  from  the  shingle,  with,  "  Who  goes  there  ? "  "  King 
George  for  ever  !  "  was  the  answer  ;  and  "  That's  right,  my  hearty, 
we'll  drink  his  health  if  you  please,"  was  the  hint  for  the  young 
man  to  replenish  the  brave  sailor's  can.  He  noted  the  seventh 
man  ;  there  he  left  the  flag  and  staff,  and  proceeded  on  the  whole 
length  of  the  line.  As  he  returned  he  placed  the  pole  firmly  into 
the  deep  shingle,  and  unfurled  the  white  sheet,  which  soon  formed 
a  most  conspicuous  streamer  in  the  air.  He  then  quietly  secreted 
himself  in  the  manner  he  had  been  shown  by  one  of  the  men,  by 
working  his  body  into  the  shingle,  and  letting  the  larger  stones  fall 
over  him  until  he  was  completely  covered,  save  his  head.  It  was 
not  long  before  a  sail,  which  had  been  seen  in  the  distance,  now 
kept  standing  off  and  on  in  the  offing.  But  now  came  his  own 
work.  About  an  hour  after  the  flag  had  been  unfurled,  Edward 
plainly  heard  the  bleating  of  sheep,  and  saw  a  shepherd  driving  a 
score  of  sheep  leisurely  along  towards  the  flag,  apparently  watching 
his  sheep  cropping  the  scant  herbage  of  the  North  Vere.  As  he 
came  whistling  on,  and  approached  the  staff,  looking  cautiously 
around  him,  Edward  thought  it  was  time  to  commence  proceedings, 
especially  as  the  old  man  laid  hold  of  the  flag-staff  to  unship  it. 
He  jumped  up,  and  called  to  the  shepherd, — 

11  I  say,  old  boy,  let  that  bell-wether  of  mine  alone,  will  you  ?  " 

The  shepherd  started,  and  left  the  staff,  and  approached  the 
young  man. 

"  What  do  you  put  that  flag  there  for,  young  man  ?  " 

M  Because  such  are  my  orders." 


194  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

"But  suppose  I  wish  to  have  that  flag  for  a  sheet  for  my  bed 
to-night,  who  shall  prevent  it?" 

"  I  will." 

"  Why,  I  could  lick  half  a  dozen  such  fellows  as  you,  with  one 
arm." 

"  Maybe  so — but  come,  now,  let's  have  a  fair  trial  of  strength. 
Lay  down  your  crook  between  us,  and  see  if  you  or  I  can  pull  the 
other  over  it.  If  you  succeed,  then  take  the  flag.  If  I,  then  you 
must  take  yourself  oif  how  you  can." 

"  Done,"  said  the  shepherd — "  it  shall  be  a  bargain  ;  "  and  he 
threw  his  crook  down  on  the  ground.     "  Now  for  it,  young  man." 

Accordingly,  they  approached  each  other.  Young  Edward  saw 
that  he  had  a  formidable  antagonist  to  contend  with,  a  brawny, 
sinewy  frame,  full  of  compact  strength,  and  more  than  an  equal 
match  for  his  youth  ;  but  he  resolved  not  to  give  the  whistle,  if  he 
could  overcome  the  man  anyhow  by  himself. 

"  Stop,"  said  Edward  ;  "  you  have  laid  the  crook  so  as  to  give 
yourself  the  upper  hand  :  that  is  not  fair.  Lay  it  down*  from 
sea  to  river,  so  that  we  both  have  the  tame  chance  in  the  slant. 
I'll  show  you  what  I  mean." 

And  the  young  man  showed  him  in  a  moment  what  he  meani  ; 
for,  taking  up  the  crook,  and  stooping  down  to  place  it  as  he  Lad 
said,  with  a  shepherd's  dexterity  (for  the  reader  will  remember 
that  the  youth  was  also  a  shepherd)  he  swung  it  round  the  ankle 
of  the  old  man,  and  at  the  same  instant  gave  it  such  a  jerk,  a& 
pitched  him  backwards  upon  his  head,  which  came  with  such 
violence  upon  the  stones,  that  he  was  completely  stunned.  Edward 
was  for  a  moment  fearful  that  he  was  dead  ;  but  conjecturing,  verj 
wisely,  that  he  might  revive,  he  took  out  of  hi3  wallet  the  old 
man's  sheep-cords  (strong  thongs  which  shepherds  use  when  thej 
dress  their  sheep,  or  such  as  sheep-shearers  use  when  they- clip 
them),  and,  without  more  ado,  he  tied  his  hands  and  legs  together 
behind  him,  so  that  he  was  completely  pinioned. 

It  was  well  that  young  Catmpole  had  taken  this  advantage  and 
precaution  ;  for,  upon  searching  the  inner  pocket  of  the  wallet,  he 
found  a  brace  of  pistols,  primed  and  loaded,  which  would  have 
made  the  contest  very  uneven.  As  the  old  man  shortly  began  to 
revive,  he  called  out  most  lustily  for  help. 

11  Hold  your  tongue,"  said  Edward,  "  or  I  will  shoot  you  dead 
with  your  own  pistols  !     Lie  still,  and  no  one  will  hurt  you.    What 


THE   HISTORY    OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  195 

should  an  honest  man,  in  your  calling,  do  with  such  weapons  as 
these  ?  " 

The  old  fellow  was  soon  convinced  that  he  had  to  deal  with  as 
good  a  hand  as  his  own  ;  and  one  as  expert  at  catching  a  ram,  too. 
His  arms  and  legs  were  tied  in  such  a  scientific  manner,  as  con- 
vinced him  that  the  young  man  was  a  shepherd.  lie  thought  it 
best,  therefore,  to  bear  his  present  condition  silently. 

"  Come  along,  old  boy,"  said  the  youth,  as  he  stuck  the 
shepherd's  crook  under  the  cords,  and  began  dragging  him  along 
towards  his  boat.     "  I'll  ease  you  down  to  the  river." 

"  Take  care  you  are  not  eased  down  yourself,"  said  the  old  man. 
"  I  have  friends,  who  will  give  you  your  deserts  before  long,  and 
ease  me  of  these  clutches." 

*'  I'll  tell  you  what  you  deserve,  old  man  ;  and  what,  if  the  coast- 
guard suffer  to-night,  you  will  receive.  You  deserve  to  be  thrown 
into  the  river  as  you  are  ;  and  if  I  have  many  words  with  you,  and 
you  refuse  to  give  me  a  plain  direction  and  answer  to  whatever 
question  I  put  to  you,  you  may  depend  upon  it  I  will  do  it  myself  ; 
and  that  will  soon  settle  all  disputes  between  us.  You  have  had 
in  your  wallet,  pistols  ;  your  crook  would  make  a  flag-staff  ;  and  I 
find,  upon  dragging  you  along,  that,  as  your  jacket  buttons  give 
way,  you  have  half  a  sheet  round  your  body.  Tell  me,  when  did 
you  intend  to  give  the  smugglers  the  signal  ?  It  will  do  you  no 
good  to  tell  me  a  lie.  You  have  seen  enough  to  be  convinced  I 
understand  what  you  are.  You  had  better  tell  me  the  truth  at 
once,  or  a  cold  salt-water  bath  will  compel  you  to  do  so." 

"  Not  to-night !— not  to-night  !  " 

"  Why  not  to-night  ?  " 

;'  Because  the  coast-guard  are  upon  the  watch." 

As  they  proceeded  on  their  way,  Edward  asked  the  old  man, 
"Do  you  expect  Captains  Laud  or  Luff  to-night?  You  may  as 
well  tell  me  ;  for  you  must  be  pretty  well  convinced,  by  this 
time,  that  I  know  what  is  going  on." 

"  Well— I  expect  Captain  Luff.     Laud  is  dead." 

The  young  man  fairly  dropped  the  crook,  as  he  repeated  the 
man's  words—"  Laud  is  dead  !  Laud  is  dead  !— How  do  you  know 
that  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  unbind  me,  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it." 

"  Perhaps  I  may,  when  you  tell  me  how  and  where  he  died,  and 
show  me  what  proof  you  have  of  his  death." 

13 


I96  '  '  THE   HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCIirOLE. 

"  Will  you  unbind  me  then  ?  " 

11  Yes  ;  when  I  think  you  have  been  bound  long  enough." 

"  These  thongs  cut  me  sore." 
■    "  How  can  that  be?  they  are  too  broad  to  cut;  and  if  ycu  do 
not  attempt  to  draw  your  hands  asunder,  you  know,  as  well  as  I 
do,  that  the  knot  is  tied  so  that  they  cannot  hurt  you.     I  see,  by 
your  keeping  your  hands  close  together,  that  they  do  not   hurt 

you." 

They  had  now  arrived  at  the  river's  side,  where  a  large  ferry- 
boat, such  as  is  used  to  carry  stock  over  from  the  main  land  to  the 
island,  was  moored  against  the  shore.     Edward  lifted  the  old  man 
into  the  broad-bottomed  craft,    and  laying   him   down   upon   the 
boards,  pulled  up  the  anchor,  and  shoved  off  towards  the  island. 
The  old  man  soon  perceived  that  Edward  was  no  sailor,   by  the 
manner  in  which  he  managed,  or  rather  mismanaged  the  boat  ;  and 
truly  this  was  the  hardest  work  the  young  man  had  yet  to  perform. 
He  had  been  so  taken  up  with  the  thought  of  doing  every  thing  he 
was  commissioned  to  do,  and  in  his  pride  so  determined  to  do  it  all 
himself,  without  help,  that  he  had  overlooked  his  greatest  difficulty, 
and  forgot  that  he  should  want  assistance  to  row  the  boat.     He 
still  did  not  use  his  whistle  ;  but,  with  very   great  exertion,    and 
very  awkward   management,    contrived  to   bring  the  boat  to  the 
island,  and  to  shove  her  along  the  side  of  the  marsh  wall,  to  a  creek, 
close  by  the  shepherd's  house.     He  then  lifted  the  old  man  out  of 
the  boat,  and  dragged  him  up  the  mud  wall,  and  laid  him  down  at 
his  cottage  door.     The  door  Avas  locked  ;  and  in  the  scuffle,  the  key 
of   it   had   fallen  out  of   the  old  man's  pocket;  and  Edward  was 
obliged  to  make  his  way  in  at  a  low  window  behind  the   house  ; 
when,  having  forced  back  the  bolt,  he  pulled  the  old  man  in,  and 
lifted  him  on  to  a  bed,  which  was  in  the  room  adjoining,  and  took  a 
seat  by  his  side. 

"  I'm  both  hungry  and  thirsty  after  all  my  exertions  ;  have  you 
any  refreshment  of  any  kind  in  this  comfortable  dwelling  ?  " 

"  You  will  find  plenty  in  the  closet  by  the  fire-place.  I  wish  I 
could  eat  and  drink  with  you." 

l-  So  you  may,  and  I  will  feed  you  as  if  you  were  my  cosset 
lamb."  " 

He  soon  found  that  the  shepherd's  cottage  contained  sufficient 
to  recruit  the  spirits  of  any  man  whose  stomach  was  not  too  proud 
for  wholesome  food.    There  was  a  slice  of  cold  boiled  bacon,  and} 


THE   HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  1 97 

bread  and  cheese  in  plenty.  There  was  brandy,  too,  but  very  bad 
■water ;  and  it  required  something  stronger  than  tea  to  take  off  the 
brackish  taste ;  brandy  alone  could  make  it  palatable  for  man.  The 
cattle  sometimes  suffered  by  drinking  it.  The  young  shepherd  fed 
the  old  one,  whose  muscular  limbn  were  now  as  powerless  as  an 
infant's  ;  not  from  second  childhood,  but  from  the  dexterity  with 
which  they  were  bound  together.  There  was  something  of  kind- 
ness in  the  young  man's  manner,  though  he  was  justified,  in 
self-defence,  to  take  the  advantage  he  had  done. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  tell  me  how  you  know  Captain  Laud  is 
dead  ?  " 

'•  Captain  Luff  told  me  so." 

"  And  is  that  all  you  know  of  it  ?     Have  you  no  other  proof  ?  '' 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  the  captain's  watch,  which  Luff  gave  to  me,  and 
the  case  of  it  has  his  true-love's  name  engraved  on  the  inside.  The 
watch  is  in  the  eld  plum-tree  box,  in  the  cupboard." 

The  young  man  eagerly  examined  the  spot.  He  found  the  box, 
and  in  it  the  watch,  with  both  names  engraved  on  the  inside  of  the 
case,  shining  as  bright,  and  the  engraving  as  sharp,  as  if  it  had 
been  executed  only  that  very  day.  "  William  Laud  and  Margaret 
Catchpole,"  round  the  interior  circumference,  and  "  June  1st,  1794," 
with  a  wreath  of  victory  surrounding  it  in  the  centre. 

"  All  this  is  correct,  as  you  say  ;  but  how  did  he  die  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you  all  I  know.  Captain  Luff  (if  you  do  not 
know  him,  I  do)  is  a  most  desperate  fellow  ;  a  price  is  set  upon  his 
head,  dead  or  alive,  so  that  it  be  but  taken.  Well,  he  murdered 
the  poor  girl  whose  name  is  written  in  the  watch  ;  and  I  firmly 
believe  that  he  murdered  Captain  Laud  too !  Towards  the  close 
of  the  last  year  I  was  upon  Sudbourn  Heath,  keeping  my  sheep, 
and  who  should  I  meet  but  Captain  Luff,  who  accosted  me  with 
this  question  : — 

"  4  Have  you  seen  my  young  commander,  Captain  Laud,  pass  this 
way  ? 

"  Well,  it  was  a  curious  question,  and  quite  natural  too  ;  for 
about  six  o'clock  that  very  morning,  as  I  was  taking  my  sheep 
out  of  the  fold,  who  should  pass  by  me  but  the  gallant  young  fellow 
whom  he  inquired  after?  Singularly  enough  he  asked  after  Luff, 
and  whether  I  knew  if  he  was  upon  the  coast.  I  told  him  that  I 
had  not  had  any  signals  lately  ;  but  that  some  of  the  crew  were 
ashore,  and  were  staying  at  the  Mariner's  Compass,  at  Orford. 


198  THE   HISTORY  OF  MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

Well,  I  told  Luff  the  same  as  I  now  tell  you  ;  and  he  no  sooner 
received  the  intelligence,  than  with  all  the  eagerness  of  a  blood- 
hound when  he  touches  upon  the  scent  of  his  victim,  he  was  off 
for  Orford  in  a  moment.    Well,  I  thought   this  was  all  for  old 
acquaintance'   sake,  or  for  business  ;  so  I  rather  rejoiced  in  the 
adventure.     That  very  night  I  had  made  an  appointment  to  take 
some  game  ;  and  as  I  went  up  the  Gap  Lane,  leading  to  the  Heath, 
I  heard  angry  words,  and  soon  found  the  two  captains  at  variance. 
I  had  no  wish,  as  you  may  suppose,  to  interfere  with  their  strife, 
so  I  quietly  laid  myself  up  in  the  ferns.     It  was  a  dreadful  sound 
to  hear  the  thunder  of  those  two  men's  voices.     How  they  cursed 
each  other  1     At  length  I  heard  the  report  of  two  pistols,  and  one 
of  the  balls  passed  within  a  yard  of  my  head  ;  but  as  for  blows,  I 
could  not  count  them.     They  fought  each  other  like  two  bull-dogs, 
I  should  say  for  near  an  hour,  till  I  heard  the  snap  and  jingle  of 
a  broken  sword,  and  then  one  of  them  fled.     I  found  the  broken 
part  of  the  blade  next  morning  close  to  the  spot.     It  was  red  with 
blood  ;  and  the  marks  of  feet  in  the  sand  were  as  numerous  as  if 
twenty  men  had  been  contending.     I  found  drops  of  blood  sunk 
into  the  sand  all  the  way  down  the  lane,  until  you  come  to  the 
marshes  ;  here  I  lost  the  track.     I   have  seen  no   more  of  Laud 
since.     But  what  makes  me  think  that  he  was  killed  by  Luff  on 
that  night  is  the  after-behaviour  of  the  captain.    About  two  months 
after  this  occurrence  I  received  a  signal  from  the  North  Vere  ; 
and  who  should  it  be  but  Luff.     Well,  he  came  home  to  my  cottage, 
and  as  we  sat  together,   I  said,  by  way  of  a  sounder,   *  Where's 
Captain  Laud  ?  ' 

"  '  What  makes  you  ask  that  question  ?  '  says  he,  hastily  and 
fiercely.  'Have  you  any  particular  reason  for  asking  me  after 
him  ?  Speak  out  at  once,'  says  he,—'  speak  out ;  have  you  heard 
anything  about  him  ?  ' 

"  The  terrific  glare  of  the  fiend's  eye  fell  upon  me  so  cruelly 
that  I  dared  not  tell  him  I  had  witnessed  the  fight,  so  I  said,  ■  I 
have  not  seen  the  captain  for  so  long  a  time,  that  I  did  not  know 
where  he  was.' 

"  '  IIo  !  ho  !  that's  it,  is  it  ? '  says  he.  ■  Have  you  seen  him 
since  the  morning  you  fed  your  sheep  on  Sudbourn  Heath  ?  ' 

"  '  No,'  says  I ;  *  he  was  then  anxious  to  see  you.  Did  you  find 
him?' 

" '  Yea,  I  did  ;  and  I  have  reason  to  think  he  was  lost  at  sea 


fHE   HISTORY   OE   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  199 

that  very  night ;  for  he  agreed  to  come  on  board,  and  we  have  seen 
nothing  more  of  him,  nor  two  of  our  crew,  since  that  very  time. 
Two  of  my  men  were  in  the  river  boat,  but  I  have  seen  nothing  of 
them  since.  They  were  to  have  joined  the  crew  on0  the  head  of 
the  North  Vere,  but  we  never  saw  them  again.' 

"  '  That's  very  odd,'  says  I  ;  '  but  how  did  you  join  the  crew  ?  ' 

"  '  I  got  a  cast  down  the  river  in  Master  Mannell's  boat,  the  old 
Sherman  of  Boyton.' 

u  Then,  after  a  pause, 

u  'Here,  Jim,'  says  he,  Til  make  you  a  present  of  poor  Will's 
watch.  I  do  not  like  to  wear  it ;  it  giieves  me  when  I  look  at  it. 
We  used  to  be  such  friends.' 

"  Now  I  thought  this  very  strange,  and  it  confirmed  me  m  the 
opinion  that  his  conscience  would  not  let  him  rest.  I  took  the 
watch,  and  you   have  now  got  it  in  your  hand." 

"  What  shall  I  give  you  for  this  watch  ? "  said  Edward. 

"  What  you  like  ;  for  ever  since  I  have  had  it,  it  has  appeared 
to  me  as  if  I  was  an  accomplice  in  Captain  Laud's  murder.'' 

u  I  will  give  you  half  a  guinea.'' 

"  Well,  it  is  yours." 

u  I  will  put  the  money  into  the  box  in  tho  cupboard.  Time  now 
wear3  away.     What  are  all  these  pieces  of  wood  for  ?  " 

"  They  are  thowls  for  the  boat,  when  the  smugglers  use  it." 

"With  your  permission  I  will  take  them  with  me.  llave  you 
any  oars  for  them  aho  ?  " 

"  No  !  the  smugglers  bring  their  own  oars." 

"Well,  I  must  be  moving  ;  and  now  s'nee  you  have  told  me  the 
truth,  and  I  have  every  reason  to  thank  you,  I  will  candidly  tell 
you  who  I  am  :  I  am  Margaret  Catchpole's  brother." 

u  You  are  a  shepherd,  then  ?  "  , 

"  I  am  a  shepherd." 

"I  was  sure  of  it  by  the  manner  in  which  you  used  these  thongs. 
May  I  ask,  is  your  sister  dead  ?  " 

"  She  is  not  dead.  How  many  men  do  you  expect  from  the 
lugger  when  they  land  ?  " 

11  Ten,  with  the  captain." 

"Well,  lie  you  still  now.  I  must,  for  the  sake  of  fulfilling  the 
orders  of  my  commander,  fasten  your  cords  to  the  bedstead,  or  I 
may  be  blamed.  So  :  that  will  do.  Now,  should  the  captain 
himself  come  to  see  you,  he  will  be  convinced  that  the  foul  play 


200  THE   HISTORY    OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

was  not  your  part  ;  and  if  he  dees  not  come  to-night,  I  will.     Bat 
time  presses,  and  I  must  do  my  duty.    Where  is  your  lamp  ?  " 

"Isee  by  your  question,"  said  the  old  man,  "  that  all  is  discovered. 
You  want  the  lamp  to  put  in  the  "window  upstairs  ;  you  will  find 
it  under  the  bed.'' 

There  it  was,  and  was  soon  lighted  and  put  in  its  proper  place 
a  joyful  signal  of  succes3  to  the  brave  and  patient  coast-guard,  auc 
a  fatal  lure  to  the  desperadoes  on  board  the  smuggler. 

"Now  then,  old  friend,  good-bye,"  said  Edward.  "  If  succces 
attend  our  scheme  you  and  I  may  be  better  acquainted  ;  you  may 
be  glad  that  you  have  told  me  all  the  truth.     Farewell." 

The  youth  was  soon  on  board  the  ferry-boat  ;  and  with  much 
labour  brought  her  to  the  same  spot  where  he  had  befoie  unmoored 
her.  The  tide  had  fallen  some  feet,  and  was  near  its  last  ebb,  fo 
that  he  very  wisely  drew  her  up  as  high  as  he  could  on  to  the 
shore,  concluding  that  if  he  anchored  her  in  the  water  when  the 
tide  flowed  again,  which  it  would  soon  do,  it  would  cover  the  anchor 
on  the  shore.  He  drew  her  up  far  enough  just  to  place  her  cable's 
end  at  high-water  mark  ;  and  having  put  the  thowls  in  their  proper 
places,  he  then  walked  across  to  the  white  flag.  Just  before  he 
passed  the  dell,  who  should  lift  up  his  head  but  young  Barry  ! 

"  I  began  to  think  our  plan  had  not  succeeded.     Is  all  right  ?  " 

"  All  is  as  you  could  wish  it,  and  more  ;  but  I  will  tell  you  all 
another  time." 

"  We  can  see  the  lugger,"  said  young  Barry,  "  standing  off  and 
on  :  our  white  flag  is  successful.  You  muit  go  to  the  right,  so  as 
to  lay  yourself  in  such  a  position  as  to  command  a  view  of  this 
little  dell  and  the  river.  Bring  yourself  to  anchor  full  a  hundred 
yards  from  this  hole,  for  I  suspect  the  fight  will  be  here  ;  keep 
your  head  below  the  ocean  mark  when  you  give  the  signal,  or  a  few 
bullets  may  whistle  about  your  ears." 

Only  those  who  have  had  anything  to  do  with  the  preventive- 
service  can  tell  the  dangers  and  difficulties  which  the  poor  fellows 
who  defend  our  trade  have  to  encounter  ;  how  much  toil  and 
anxiety,  and  how  seldom  sufficient  honour  or  reward  do  such  men 
gain  in  discharging  their  onerous  duty,  It  is  a  life  of  feverish 
vexation.  Fancy  fourteen  men  collected  and  stationed  along  four 
miles  of  coast  the  whole  day,  buried  in  the  pebbles,  and  waiting  on 
a  cold  night  for  the  approach  of  the  smuggler.  They  all  saw  the 
vessel  reconnoitring  and  sailing  about  the  offing  :  the  least  want  of 


THE   HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLfi.  20 1 

circumspection  on  their  part  would  thwart  the  scheme  which  up 
to  this  moment  promised  success.  Even  the  men  accustomed  to 
this  kind  of  work  shook  with  the  anxiety  of  suspense  ;  but  what 
must  have  been  the  sensations  of  the  young  landsman  who  had  to 
give  the  signal  for  the  onset,  in  which  more  than  one  might  fall  ? 
To  say  that  he  did  not  suffer  severely,  enough  almost  to  make  him 
wish  himself  at  home,  would  not  be  true  ;  the  thought,  however, 
that  he  might  be  instrumental  in  bringing  the  villain  Luff  to  justice 
for  all  his  crimes,  and  the  singular  manner  in  which  he  had  dis- 
covered his  treachery  to  Laud,  made  the  young  man  some  amends 
for  the  truly  painful  task  he  had  undertaken. 

Night  now  began  to  draw  on,  and  the  sea  birds  left  off  their 
screaming  ;  the  tern  and  the  dottrell  hastened  to  their  resting- 
places;  and  the  last  of  all  the  feathered  sea-shore  tribe,  the  one 
which  goes  to  roost  the  latest,  the  grey  curlew,  bent  his  rapid  wing 
toward  Ilavergate  Island,  and  gave  a  mournful  note  as  he  flapped 
over  the  head  of  the  young  watchman.  As  the  moon  arose  the 
wind  began  to  blow  a  little  fresh,  and  the  ocean  to  roar  upon  the 
beach.  The  smugglers  rejoiced  at  this,  as  it  would  enable  them  to 
land  their  cargo  with  less  chance  of  being  heard.  The  flag  still 
streamed  and  flapped  in  the  wind  ;  tne  light  shone  like  a  star  in 
the  shepherd's  cot ;  and  the  time  drew  near  for  the  contest. 

Not  a  sound  could  be  now  heard  save  that  of  the  wind.  The 
vessel,  however,  might  be  seen  in  the  moonlight,  approaching  the 
shore;  and  now  a  heavy  eight-oared  boat  was  seen  to  leave  her: 
she  wa3  heavily  laden,  even  to  the  gunwale.  The  boat  lurched 
through  the  breakers  like  a  log.  On  she  came,  with  her  helmsman, 
John  Luff,  who  laid  her  broadside  on  to  the  shore.  Now  for  an 
anxious  moment.  Not  a  word  was  spoken.  The  wind  preventing 
any  sound  along  the  shore,  nothing  could  be  heard  even  of  the 
grounding  of  the  boat's  keel  upon  the  beach.  Dark  figures  of  men 
were  seen  getting  out  of  the  boat.  They  were  expert  sailors,  up  to 
their  work  ;  as  the  sea  heaved  the  boat  up,  they  dragged  her  higher 
on  the  shore,  until  they  could  more  conveniently  unload  her.  This 
was  done  as  expeditiously  as  possible  ;  each  man  carried  a  sack 
heavily  laden.  They  went  to  the  very  spot  that  Barry  had  named, 
deposited  their  load,  and  again  returned  to  their  boat.  Twice  they 
performed  this  work  ;  and  now  the  two  last  men,  carrying  the  eight 
oars,  brought  up  the  rear.  The  eight  quietly  seated  themselves  on 
the  sacks,  whilst  the  other  two  went  forward  with  the  oars  ;  they 


202  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE* 

returned,  and,  as  young  Edward  concluded,  must  have  said,  "  All's 
right." 

By  this  time  the  coast-guard  were  drawing  their  lines  closer  to 
the  spot,  each  man  taking  up  his  brother,  or  calling  on  him  as 
he  passed  him,  until  the  whole  fourteen  were  within  the  space  of 
ten  yards  from  the  flag  ;  breathless,  on  their  knees,  did  they  await 
the  shrill  whistle  which,  like  the  trumpet's  sound,  was  to  give  the 
wTord  for  the  charg3. 

Young  Catchpole  saw  the  smugglers  emerge  from  the  dell,  with 
each  man  his  sack  upon  his  shoulder ;  for  an  instant  he  thought 
he  ought  to  wait  until  they  came  the  second  time,  but  as  his  orders 
did  not  say  so,  and  he  judged  that  if  they  once  stowed  away  half 
their  cargo  they  would  make  quickly  for  the  river,  he  deemed  it 
best  to  give  the  signal  at  once  ;  so  drawing  in  his  breath,  he  gave 
the  whistle  such  a  long,  shrill  blast,  that  had  the  wind  lain  that  way 
it  might  have  been  heard  to  Orford.  He  did  not  raise  himself  up, 
and  it  was  well  he  did  not,  for  over  his  head  whizzed  a  ball,  and 
flash — flash — flash  went  the  pistols.  A3  was  predicted  the  men 
dropped  their  cargoes,  and  ran  for  the  pit,  but  here  stood  the  coast- 
guard ready  to  receive  them,  young  Barry  having  brought  his  men 
down  below  the  horizon  of  the  sea,  that  they  might  not  be  exposed 
to  the  sight  of  the  smugglers,  whilst  the  river  lying  lower,  and 
they  ascending  from  it,  became  a  visible  mark  against  the  moonlit 
water  for  their  fire. 

Dreadful  was  the  contest  that  ensued.  The  smugglers  formed  a 
close  line  ;  the  coast-guard  line  was  more  measured,  and  with  some 
space  between  each  two  men,  so  that  their  danger  wa3  the  less. 
The  firing,  as  they  approached  each  other,  was  awful ;  two  men  of 
the  smugglers  fell.  They  closed  nearer,  and  swords  clashed  and 
sparkled  in  the  moonlight ;  and  the  uproar  at  length  became  more 
audible  than  the  noise  of  the  wind  and  waves.  At  last  there  was 
one  sudden,  tremendous  yell  from  the  boat's  crew,  and  then  the 
cry  for  quarter ;  some  fell,  others  fled,  not  to  the  boat  but  along 
the  coast.  It  was  the  object  of  the  coast-guard  not  to  pursue  them 
so  far  as  to  separate  from  each  other  ;  and  as  three  fled  one  way, 
and  two  another,  they  merely  sent  flying  shots  after  them,  and 
cleared  a  passage  to  the  boat.  The  shout  announced  the  leader 
of  the  smugglers  to  be  shot,  and  two  more  were  lying  by  his  side, 
and  two  surrendered,  and  were  disarmed  and  guarded,  whilst  but 
one  of  the  coast-guard  had  fallen. 


THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  203 

As  the  enemy  was  dispersed  young  Barry  mustered  his  men,  and 
missed  his  comrade.  They  found  him  near  the  two  smugglers  who 
had  first  fallen.  Close  to  them  lay  the  captain,  his  arm  nearly  cut 
in  two,  shot  in  the  side,  and  severely  wounded  on  the  head. 
Young  Edward,  who  had  seen  the  fight,  now  came  forward  to 
render  further  assistance.  The  two  smugglers  were  dead  ;  but  the 
preventive-service  man  and  the  captain  of  the  crew  were  not  dead, 
though  both  were  severely  wounded. 

The  two  wounded  men  were  taken  to  the  shepherd's  cottage. 
Four  men,  with  Barry  and  young  Edward,  rowed  across  to  the 
island,  whilst  ten  men  were  left  to  guard  the  prisoners  and  the 
cargo,  and  to  secure  the  smugglers'  boat.  The  whole  proved  to 
be  a  most  valuable  prize. 

The  captain,  as  the  reader  may  suppose,  proved  to  be  no  other 
than  the  hated  John  Luff.  The  old  shepherd  was  released  by 
young  Catchpole,  and  from  cramp  and  pain  from  his  long  doubled- 
up  position  he  could  scarcely  stand.  The  two  wounded  men  were 
placed  upon  his  bed,  presenting  such  a  contrast  of  feature, 
expression,  and  character,  as  the  ablest  artist  in  the  world  could 
not  have  justly  delineated.  Luff,  with  his  dark  brow,  haggard 
eye,  and  hairy  face,  looking  like  a  dying  hyena,  looked  up  and  saw 
before  him,  Barry,  Catchpole,  and  the  shepherd  ;  and  with  the 
scowl  of  revenge  (a  strong  passion  to  exhibit  in  such  agony),  he 
muttered  a  dreadful  curse  upon  them  all.  The  poor  coast-guard 
man,  with  his  pale  but  placid  countenance,  though  suffering 
severely  from  his  wounds,  extended  his  hand  to  his  commander, 
and  implored  him  to  let  him  be  carried  to  another  bed,  to  let  him 
lie  on  the  floor  in  the  other  room,  or  anywhere  but  head  to  head 
beside  the  demon  -who  lay  shuddering  and  cursing  by  hia  side. 

The  bed  of  the  shepherd's  daughter,  who  was  at  that  time  staying 
at  Orford,  was  brought  down  and  laid  in  the  keeping-room  beside 
the  fire-place,  and  the  poor  fellow  was  laid  upon  it.  Luff's  death- 
hour  was  evidently  at  hand.  It  was  a  fearful  thing  to  see  him  in 
his  horrible  tortures,  and  to  hear  him,  in  his  groans  and  moans, 
proclaiming  himself  the  murderer  of  Will  Laud.  *\Yhenever  he 
opened  his  eyes  he  saw  nothing  but  the  evidences  of  guilt  before 
him,  as  he  raved  in  wild  frenzy, — 

"  There  !  there  !  there  !  I  see  him  !  He  is  not  dead  ! — no  ! 
no  !  no  !  There's  Laud  and  Margaret  Catchpole  !  Look  !  They 
laugh  at  me  !  " 


204  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

At  last,  with  one  -wild  scream,  his  spirit,  like  an  affrighted  bird, 
fled  away.  Never  did  those  who  stood  near  him  witness  such  a 
death.  A  cold  shudder  crept  over  their  flesh,  and  they  owned  one 
to  another  that  they  should  never  forget  that  awful  sight. 

When  it  became  known  that  the  notorious  smuggler,  John  Luff, 
was  killed,  numbers  came  to  see  him  ;  and  few  that  saw  his  body 
but  owned  that  he  wTas  a  fearful  fellow  when  living.  Government 
paid  the  reward  over  into  the  hands  of  the  coast-guard,  who  all 
subscribed  liberally  towards  the  comfort  of  their  wounded  messmate. 
Edward  Catchpole  was  included  among  those  who  shared  the  re- 
ward, and  this  enabled  h'm  to  pay  all  his  expenses  without  any 
recurrence  to  his  sister's  purse. 

When  young  Catchpole  returned  at  Kacton  with  the  eventful 
tidings  of  his  journey,  and  related  all  the  particulars  to  Margaret, 
stating  his  full  belief  of  Laud's  death,  she  pondered  for  a  while 
over  his  statement,  and  then  expressed  her  dissent  from  her  brother's 
conclusions. 

"I  see  no  certain  proof  of  Laud's  death,"  said  she.  "  The  old 
shepherd  and  the  wretch  Luff,  may  both  have  supposed  him  dead  ; 
but  there  is  a  mystery  not  yet  cleared  up  which  fills  me  with  strange 
hopes — I  mean  the  sudden  disappearance  of  the  two  sailors  with 
the  boat  that  very  night.  Luff  made  no  mention  of  them  in  his 
dying  moments.  I  really  think  these  two  men  are  somehow  con- 
nected with  the  safety  of  Laud  ;  and  I  yet  have  hope." 

She  rejoiced,  however,  that  Laud  was  not  found  in  company 
with  his  former  band,  and  especially  with  that  bad  man  Luff;  and 
drew  conclusions,  in  her  own  mind,  favourable  to  his  character 
and  conduct.  She  was  very  grateful  to  her  brother ;  and  not  long 
afterwards  she  proposed  to  return  to  her  place.  She  had  certainly 
been  very  remiss  in  not  communicating  with  her  mistress  once  since 
she  left  her.  So  taken  up  wa3  she  with  her  thoughts  of  Laud,  that 
she  forgot  her  situation  ;  and,  until  her  brother's  return,  had  never 
spoken  of  going  back  to  Ipswich.  Her  mistress  not  hearing  of  or 
from  her,  sent  over  to  Brandiston,  and  there  learned  that  she  had 
never  been  to  see  her  uncle  and  aunt,  nor  had  they  heard  anything 
of  her.  A  man  wras  sent  to  Nacton,  and,  unfortunately,  the  cottage 
was  locked  up,  as  Margaret  had  been  that  day  to  spend  a  few 
hours  with  her  first  mistress,  at  the  Priory  Farm.  These  strange 
circumstances  made  her  mistress  at  Ipswich  conclude  that  she  was 
gone  in  search  of  Laud ;  and  consequently  she   engaged  another 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  205 

servant.  "When  Margaret  returned  to  St.  Margaret's  Green,  she 
found  her  place  filled  up  ;  and  her  mistress  reproached  her  for  her 
neglect  in  not  having  had  some  communication  with  her.  Margaret 
felt  hurt  and  disappointed.  She  stayed  a  short  time  at  one  or 
two  places,  but  was  extremely  unsettled  and  dissatisfied.  She  was 
in  the  habit  of  frequently  visiting  St.  Margaret's  Green,  and  of 
being  asked  to  go  and  see  the  children.  About  eight  months  after 
a  vacancy  unexpectedly  occurred  in  Mrs.  Cobbold's  establishment, 
and  Margaret  entered  a  second  time  into  the  service  of  her  former 
mistress,  in  the  capacity  of  cook  ;  but  her  stay  this  time  was  short. 
She  was  now  as  unlike  as  possible  to  the  Margaret  of  former  days 
She  was  not  happy.  Her  temper  had  been  soured  by  disappoint- 
ment, and  her  spirit  made  restless  by  rumours  of  Laud  being  a'.ive. 
She  became  impatient  towards  her  fellow-servants,  careless  in  her 
dress  and  manner,  and  negligent  in  her  work — a  complete  contrast 
to  her  former  self,  who  had  been  a  pattern  of  order,  decency,  and 
regularity.  At  the  end  of  one  year,  it  became  her  mistress's  painful 
duty  to  give  her  a  final  warning.  It  was  a  real  heart-felt  sorrow 
to  that  benevolent  lady  to  be  compelled,  for  the  sake  of  example 
to  her  other  servants,  to  discharge  Margaret.  But  she  could  not 
do  otherwise. 

Here  was  a  painful  duty  discharged  conscientiously.  Let  not 
the  reader  think  that  it  made  no  impression.  It  fell  with  full  force 
upon  Margaret-'s  mind.  Margaret  wept  most  bitterly  when  she 
found  that  she  must  now  break  off  all  connection  with  that  family 
in  which  she  had  once  been  so  happy.  She  merely  asked  pei  mis- 
sion to  remain  till  the  end  of  the  week,  and  that  in  such  a  subdued 
tone  and  supplicating  manner,  as  touched  her  mistress's  heart. 
It  is  needless  to  say  that  her  request  was  granted. 

The  morning  of  departure  arrived,  and  not  a  servant,  no,  nor  a 
child  in  that  house,  could  say,  "Good-bye7'  without  tears.  Her 
mistress,  when  handing  over  to  her  the  money  directed  to  her  by 
Laud,  made  Margaret  sit  down,  and  conversed  with  her  upon  her 
future  prospects.  She  also  gave  her  some  good  books  for  a  remem- 
brance, expressed  a  hope  that  she  would  read  them,  and  told  her  she 
should  forget  all  but  her  good  deeds,  and  be  ever  ready  to  serve  her. 

Then,  with  tears  rolling  down  her  chseks,  Margaret  tottered  to 
the  cart  which  had  been  provided  to  take  her  to  Brandiston, 
and  left  that  house  never  to  enter  it  again,  and  never  to  look  upon 
it  without  terror. 


206  THE   HISTORY  OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

The  author  cannot  help  introducing  at  the  close  of  this  chapter 
an  authenticated  document,  which  has  been  sent  to  him  from 
Reading,  in  Berkshire.  It  is  the  testimony  of  a  man  still  living, 
who  has  never  forgotten  Margaret  Catchpole  :  and  the  reader  will 
say  he  had  good  reason  to  remember  her.  This  man  now  lives  in 
the  service  of  Mr.  John  Snare,  No.  16,  Minster  Street,  Reading  ; 
and,  since  the  publication  of  the  former  edition  of  this  work,  has 
made  known  to  his  master  a  providential  escape  which  he  had  in 
his  infancy,  through  the  intrepidity  of  this  extraordinary  woman. 
Poor  Margaret !  it  is  with  inexpressible  pleasure  that  the  author 
transcribes  this  tribute  to  her  memory  ;  for  it  proves  to  him,  that 
whatever  was  the  cause  of  her  unsettled  state  of  mind,  her  noble 
spirit  was  still  as  prompt  to  hear  the  cry  of  the  helpless  as  in 
her  days  of  confidence  and  comfort  with  her  beloved  mistress.  The 
author  is  indebted  to  the  Rev.  John  Connop,  Bradfield  Hall, 
Reading,  for  the  original  document,  which  he  now  gives  to  the 
public  ;  and  which  he  is  happy  to  add,  is  fully  confirmed  by  persons 
now  living  at  Ipswich. 

The  Declaration  of  William  White,  of  Reading,  in  Berkshire. 

"  My  parents  lived  on  St.  Margaret's  Green,  St.  Margaret's 
parish,  Ipswich,  about  five  door3  from  the  house  of  John  Cobbold, 
Esq.  Margaret  Catchpole  was  then  living  in  Mr.  Cobbold's  service 
as  cook.  About  the  middle  of  the  spring  of  1797,  I,  being  then 
a  child  about  six  years  of  age,  was  playing  on  the  Green  with 
many  of  the  neighbours'  children  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  our  sport, 
a  mad  bull  rushed  most  furiously  towards  us,  directing  his  attack 
upon  our  little  group  to  the  precise  spot  wThere  I  stood.  Paralysed 
by  fear  and  surprise,  I  saw  no  hope  of  safety  in  flight,  and  must 
have  fallen  a  victim  to  the  assault  of  the  infuriated  beast,  had 
not  my  companions  set  up  a  cry  of  alarm.  At  this  critical  moment, 
Margaret  Catchpole  rushed  out  of  Mr.  Cobbold's  house,  to  as- 
certain the  cause  of  the  disturbance,  and  had  the  courage  to  fly  in 
the  face  of  the  bull,  just  as  he  was  in  the  act  of  tossing  me. 
Indeed  I  was  slightly  gored  by  him,  and  must  inevitably  have 
been  severely  injured,  had  not  this  courageous  woman  snatched  me 
up,  and  carried  me  into  Mr.  Cobbold's  kitchen,  taking  every 
care  of  me  until  my  parents  arrived. 

"I  was  not  seriously  hurt,  but  I  have  been  told  that  my  bruises 
and  scars  did  not  disappear  for  several  weeks  ;  and  during  this  time 


THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  207 

I  was  visited  by  Margaret  Catchpole  and  Mrs.  Cobbold,  who  both 
took  great  notice  of  me,  and  evinced  great  anxiety  for  my 
recovery. 

11 1  remember  that  this  courageous  act  of  Margaret  Catchpole's 
was  much  talked  of  at  the  time,  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Fonnereau,  the 
rector  of  St.  Margaret's,  took  much  interest  in  the  affair ;  so  much, 
indeed,  did  he  think  of  it,  that  on  my  marriage  in  1817,  he,  being 
still  the  rector,  and  performing  the  ceremony,  reminded  me  of  the 
extraordinary  circumstance  which  had  occurred  in  my  childhood, 
and  of  my  providential  escape  from  an  early  grave. 

"  My  uncle,  Samuel  Bay  ley  (my  mother's  brother),  was  cooper 
and  brewer  to  J.  Cobbold,  Esq.,  being  in  his  employment  at  the 
Cliff  Brewery,  near  Ipswich,  at  the  time  the  above  occurred. 

"  Yf  illiam  White. 
"Heading,  February  ISth,  1817." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

GUILT    AND    CRIME. 


The  reader  will  be  anxious  to  know  what  really  was  the  fate  of 
Will  Laud,  and  will  not  be  surprised  to  learn  that  Margaret's  idea 
was  quite  in  accordance  with  the  fact.  When  Luff  quitted  the  old 
shepherd  upon  Sudbourn  Heath,  in  search  of  Laud,  he  was  prepared 
to  lind  him  at  the  Compasses  at  Orford,  and  there  he  did  tind  him, 
and  he  pretended  to  be  glad  to  see  him,  and  to  be  very  friendly 
with  him.  All  former  animosities  seemed  to  be  extinct  ;  and  Luff 
quickly  wormed  out  of  him  the  secrets  of  his  heart.  He  asked  afttr 
Margaret  with  as  much  apparent  indifference  as  if  he  had  heard 
nothing  of  her. 

"I  have  left  her  for  ever,"  said  Laud.  "I  will  have  nothing 
more  to  do  with  her.  Some  more  powerful  enemy  than  I  have  ever 
contended  with  has  at  last  prevailed  over  me,  and  pulled  down  the 
proud  flag  I  had  hoisted  in  her  love.  I  heard  her  say,  almost  to  my 
face,  that  she  would  never  see  another  sailor,  though  she  must  have 
been  expecting  me  home,  for  I  sent  her  word  by  an  old  messmate 
that  I  was  coming  ;  and  what  could  she  mean,  but  to  let  me  know 
flatly  that  she  preferred  some  lubberly  landsman  (perhaps  some 
powdered  footman)  to  one  of  Lord  Howe's  Britons  ?    I  could  stand 


208  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

it  no  longer,  so  I  just  threw  all  my  prize-money  overboard  ;  and  here 
I  am,  Jack,  ready  to  join  your  crew  again.  Have  you  forgotten 
our  last  rub  ?     Come,  give  us  your  hand,  Jack." 

Luff  put  out  hi3  blood-stained  palm,  and  pretended  all  the  peace 
of  a  restored  friendship.  Grog  was  ordered  ;  and  the  two  easily 
struck  a  bargain  to  go  on  board  again  in  the  services  of  Captain 
Bargood.  But  Luff  was  too  determined  a  villain  to  forego  that 
opportunity,  which  now  offered  itself,  of  fulfilling  the  deadly  pur- 
pose he  had  often  sworn  to  his  crew  that  he  would  accomplish,  "  to 
bring  Laud  a  captive,  dead  or  alive,  on  board  the  brig."  The 
treacherou3  fellow  had  left  no  stone  unturned  to  bring  about  this 
plan.  It  was  he  who  pursued  such  a  system  of  fraud  with  regird 
to  Margaret  a3  led  to  her  disgrace.  He  hired  sailors  to  deceive  her 
with  false  tales,  and  to  learn  what  they  could  of  Laud,  that  he  might 
the  more  easily  wreak  his  vengeance  upon  his  victim.  And  now  at 
last  here  was  the  object  of  his  hatred,  trusting  to  him  as  he  would 
have  done  to  the  most  tried  friend.  He  was  as  loud  and  artful  in 
his  ridicule  of  Margaret  as  a  determined  monster  of  envy  could  be. 
He  had  heard,  he  said,  many  tales  of  her ;  and  that  she  wa3  at  last 
going  to  marry  one  of  the  brewhouse  men.  Such  were  the  inven- 
tions of  this  hollow-hearted  villain,  to  inflame  the  irritable  mind  of 
Laud.  There  were  two  of  the  crew  present,  to  whom  Luff  had 
given  the  wink,  and  made  them  to  understand  he  had  trapped  his 
man. 

"  Let  us  take  a  bit  of  a  cruise,  and  have  a  look  at  the  port,"  said 
Luff  to  his  pretended  friend  ;  and  then  turning  to  the  others,  he 
said,  "  We  shall  be  in  again  presently,  and  go  on  board  to-night." 

"Ay,  ay,  master,"  replied  one  of  the  men,  "  all  right, — I  say, 
Sam,"  observed  he,  when  the  two  captains  had  left  the  room, 
'  'what  a  shocking  fellow  our  captain  is  !  I'll  wager  now  that  he 
either  puts  a  bullet  through  Laud's  head,  or  a  dagger  in  his  heart, 
or  shoves  him  overboard  at  night !  " 

"Ay,  Jim,  I  don't  mind  a  brush  with  the  coast-guard,  but  I  don't 
like  such  cold-blooded  work  as  this  any  more  than  you  do.  Don't 
let  us  wait  for  the  captain  ;  but,  as  soon  as  we  have  finished  our 
grog,  let's  be  off  for  the  boat." 

"  With  all  my  heart,  Sam  ;  and  let  us  drink  our  young  captain's 
health,  and  good  luck  to  him." 

Luff  had  enticed  his  captain  to  a  longer  wall*,  than  he  expected  ; 
and  no  sooner  had  they  entered  the  Gap  Lane  than  he  began  a 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  20g 

quarrel,  and  presently  attacked  him,  sword  in  hand.  Laud  defended 
himself  with  groat  dexterity,  until  his  sword  was  broken,  and  he 
himself  disarmed.  He  fled  towards  the  marshes,  but  was  over- 
taken, cut  down,  and  cast  for  dead  into  one  of  those  deep  marsh 
ditches  which  abounl  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Orford.  After  Luff 
had  thus  wreaked  his  vengeance,  he  crept  stealthily  towards  the 
town  ;  and  as  he  went  picked  up  Laud*s  watch,  which  had  fallen 
from  his  pocket.  It  made  his  blood,  already  heated  with  exertion, 
grow  cold  with  conscious  horror.  lie  was  too  great  a  villain,  ho-.v- 
ever,  to  have  much  thought  of  mercy,  pity,  or  repentance.  lie 
entered  the  Compasses  and  called  for  a  strong  norih-we3ter,  ard 
inquired  for  his  men,  and  learned  they  had  bsen  gone  to  their  boat 
some  time.  lie  gave  them  some  coarse  malediction  for  their  pains, 
and  sat  down  to  his  strong  potation. 

The  two  men  were  at  that  time  crossing  a  plank  over  the  very 
dyke  which  Laud  had  been  cast  into,  and  were  startled  by  his 
groans.  On  looking  about  them  they  observed  a  man's  head  just 
out  of  the  water,  beside  the  bank  ;  they  pulled  him  out,  and  found 
to  their  horror  that  it  was  Laud.  Having  decided  on  taking  him 
to  his  uncle's,  they  lifted  Laud  up  anl  carried  him  across  the 
marshes,  and  laid  him  as  carefully  as  they  could  upon  some  old 
saih  at  the  bottom  of  tli2  boat  ;  and  instead  of  going  down  the 
river  to  Hollesley  Bay,  they  rowed  directly  up  the  river  with  the 
flood  tide.  They  arrived  at  Aldborough  just  as  the  tide  turned, 
and  had  the  precaution  or  prudence,  directly  they  lmded,  to  send 
their  boat  adrift  ;  which,  getting  into  the  channel,  wa3  carried 
down  the  river,  and  was  cast  upon  a  sand-bank,  within  a  few  yards 
of  the  smuggler's  cutter,  by  which  means  it  was  supposed  that  the 
two  men  had  perished  ;  for  at  daybreak,  when  Luff  came  on  board, 
he  wa3  the  first  to  discover  the  boat,  keel  upwards,  upon  tLa 
bank. 

"It  served  them  right,"  said  the  captain,  "for  leaving  th-ir 
commander  behind  them." 

They  had  safely  conveyed  Will  Laud  to  the  Jolly  Tar,  which 
then  stood  close  to  the  river's  sidj.  ITs  uncle  was  ssnt  for,  who 
came,  attended  by  Mr.  Xursey,  at  that  time  the  skilful  and  highly 
esteemed  surgeon  of  Aldborough.  He  found  him  dreadfu'.ly 
wounded  ;  but  at  length,  by  strict  attention  and  consummate  skill, 
succeeded  in  effecting  a  cure.  That  uncle  had  always  loved  his 
nephew,  and  in  some  measure  considered  himself  responsible  for 


2IO  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

the  waywardness  of  his  seafariijg  propensities ;  and  he  took  him 
to  his  home,  and  treated  him  in  every  respect  as  a  lost  son 
restored. 

Here,  then,  wa3  an  opportunity— a  golden  opportunity — for 
reformation.  Laud's  former  character  had  been  cancelled  by  his 
service  in  the  British  navy  ;  and  his  gallant  conduct  on  the  glorious 
1st  of  June  had  obtained  for  him  a  free  discharge,  with  priza- 
money,  and  certificate  of  character  in  the  service.  He  was  now 
placed  in  a  situation  calculated  to  restore  him  to  independence. 
In  the  years  1795  and  1796  he  served  his  uncle  faithfully  ;  and 
such  were  the  hopes  entertained  of  his  steadiness  and  attention  to 
bu  iiness,  that  at  the  end  of  that  year,  when  his  uncle  died,  he  left 
him  all  that  he  possessed. 

It  may  seem  strange  that  Laud  should  never  have  sought  for 
Margaret  Catchpole  during  all  this  time,  or  that  she  should  not 
have  made  further  inquiries  about  him.  Had  they  met  at  this 
period,  and  come  to  a  mutual  explanation,  they  might  both  have 
been  spared  from  that  misery  and  remorse  attendant  upon  a 
degraded  character.  But  it  was  otherwise  decreed.  He  had 
always  brooded  over  his  imaginary  wrongs  at  the  hands  of  Mar- 
garet ;  had  learned  to  think  little  of  her  ;  and  never  to  have  for- 
given her  for  that  unfortunate  speech  the  night  he  left  Ipswich. 
And  when  he  became  a  master  and  a  man  of  substance  (as  above 
related)  he  did  not  appear  to  be  settled  or  happy.  The  news  cf 
Luffs  death  might  have  been  supposed  to  take  away  from  him  any 
hankering  after  the  illicit  pursuits  of  his  youth  ;  but  the  escape 
of  some  of  the  crew,  and  their  strong  attachment  to  Laud,  induced 
him  to  listen  to  their  proposals  of  service,  and  to  employ  a  ship  in 
the  trade  ;  and  he  actually  sent  out  smugglers,  though  he  would 
not  head  them  himself  ;  so  that,  very  soon  after  the  decease  of 
his  uncle,  Laud  became  deeply  engaged  again  in  the  illicit  traffic 
of  the  coast. 

But  what  was  Margaret  doing  all  this  time  ?  She  returned  to  her 
Uncle  and  Aunt  Leader,  and  became  their  assistant.  She  under- 
took once  more  the  management  of  the  children,  and  was  instru- 
mental in  restoring  order  and  decency  in  the  house.  She  did  not 
feel  quite  so  lively  an  interest  in  this  employment  as  she  had 
formerly  done,  though  her  aunt's  manner  was  a  complete  contrast 
to  what  it  had  formerly  been.  By  her  uncle's  advice,  she  put  the 
money  she  never  considered  her  own  into  the  hands  of  the  much- 


THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATClIPOlX  2  1 1 

respected  general  shopkeeper  of  the  parish,  who  placed  it  in  the 
bank,  and  became  a  trustee  for  her.  Still  she  resolved  not  to  touch 
it,  but  to  keep  it,  as  the  property  of  Laud,  until  she  should  ba 
more  sure  of  his  death.  She  had  great  hopes  still  that  she  should 
one  day  see  him  again.  She  lived  "with  her  uncle  and  aunt,  and 
made  herself  useful  in  every  possible  way  ;  nor  did  she  ever  murmur 
at  her  condition,  though  she  often  sighed  over  past  misfortunes. 

In  the  month  of  May,  1797,  she  received  a  letter  from  old  George 
Teager,  her  fellow-servant,  which  ran  thus  : — 

"  Margaret, — This  come3  hoping  it  may  find  you  well,  as  it 
still  leaves  me,  though  very  deaf.  I  have  got  a  bit  of  news  for  you, 
which  I  know  you  "will  be  glad  to  hear.  I  was  going  down  the 
"Wash  yesterday,  when  who  should  I  meet  but  Will  Laud  ?  lie 
looked  uncommon  well,  and  was  very  civil  to  me.  lie  asked  me 
many  questions  about  you  ;  and  I  set  him  right  about  some  bad 
splints  and  curbs  he  had  got  in  his  head.  lie  told  me  he  should 
soon  manage  to  see  you,  so  no  more  from  old 

"George  Teager. 
"Margaret's  Green,  May  3rd,  1797." 

Imagine  poor  Margaret's  anxiety.  She  waited  seven  day3  in 
such  a  state  of  feverish  suspense  as  only  those  so  situated  can  feel. 
She  rested  neither  day  nor  night,  but  became  each  morning  more 
anxiously  disturbed,  until  she  determined  to  go  herself  to  Ipswich. 

Now  Laud  had  been  to  Ipswich  to  purchase  some  timber,  and  to 
dispose  of  some  of  his  smuggled  goods.  He  had  met  old  Teager,  the 
coachman,  and  had  treated  him  with  a  friendly  glass,  which  the  old 
man  seldom  refused.  He  had  also  met  an  old  messmate  accident- 
ally ;  a  good-for-nothing  fellow,  whom  Luff  had  formerly  made  use 
of  to  deceive  Margaret  with  false  reports  concerning  him.  Laud 
had  treated  this  man  to  some  grog  ;  and  in  talking  over  old  times, 
the  man  disclosed  some  of  Luff's  villany,  with  which  Laud  had  nei  er 
before  been  acquainted  ;  especially  his  conduct  to  Margarat  on  that 
wretched  night  in  which  Laud  had  sought  an  interview  with  her. 
This  fellow,  whose  name  was  John  Cook,  told  him  that  he  was  one 
of  the  sailors  bribed  to  deceive  her,,  and  to  go  backwards  and  for- 
wards with  false  reports  to  the  kitchen  of  St.  Margaret's  Green. 

Laud  now  saw  the  reason  for  poor  Margaret's  exclamation,  "I 
will  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  any  sailors  !  "  The  truth  broke 
on  him  with  such  conviction,    that   he   resolved   to   seek   out  Ida 

*4 


213  THE  HISTORY  OF   MARGARET  CATCHfOLE. 

betrothed  the  very  moment  he  had  fulfilled  his  engagement  at  Ips- 
wich. It  is  a  remarkable  fact,  that,  on  the  very  same  day  on  which 
Laud  left  the  town  with  the  full  determination  to  see  and  have  an 
explanation  with  Margaret,  she  determined  to  go  to  Ipswich,  to  ex- 
plain (if  she  could  find  him)  the  whole  of  her  conduct.  This  was 
on  the  evening  of  the  9th  of  May,  1797.  She  had  frankly  explained 
to  her  uncle  the  purpose  of  her  journey  ;  and  as  to  the  money  in  the 
hands  of  the  trustee,  she  said,  "  If  a  letter  comes  to  you,  from  me, 
about  it,  you  can  then  consult  with  Mr.  Smith  about  its  disposal.  I 
fully  expect,"  she  added,  "to  meet  Laud  at  Ipswich,  and  whatever 
his  fortunes  may  be,  I  am  determined  to  share  them  with  him." 

She  arrived  at  Ipswich  that  afternoon,  and  took  up  her  abode  at 
her  former  lodgings  at  the  Widow  Syers'  a  distant  relative  of  her 
mother's,  though  by  no  means  a  desirable  person  for  Margaret  to 
abide  with  at  such  a  time.  She  did  not  go,  as  she  ought  to  have 
done,  to  her  good  mistress,  who  would  have  instituted  every  inquiry 
for  her  ;  but  she  chose  to  pursue  her  own  course.  She  saw  the  old 
coachman,  and  learned  from  him  that  he  had  seen  Laud  at  the 
Salutation,  in  Carr  Street,  only  the  day  before.  She  did  not  stay 
to  ask  any  more  questions,  but  off  she  went  towards  the  public- 
house  in  question.  On  her  way,  it  was  her  misfortune  to  meet  with 
that  vagabond,  John  Cook,  the  very  fellow  who  had  so  often  made 
a  dupe  of  her  before,  and  who  was  now  the  cause  of  her  performing 
an  act  that  is  probably  without  precedent  in  female  history.  Intent 
but  upon  one  thing,  the  obtaining  an  interview  with  her  lover,  the 
mainspring  of  all  her  prospects  in  life,  and  the  centre  in  which  all 
her  hopes,  wishes, thoughts,  and  cares  were  pointed,  she  was  almost 
crazy  with  anxiety  to  see  this  worthless  object  of  her  idolatry.  She 
had  been  betrayed  into  misfortunes  by  her  blindness  on  this  point  ; 
and  though  careful,  prudent,  and  considerate  upon  almost  every 
other  thing,  she  had  been,  and  was  still,  the  easy  victim  of  any  art- 
ful machination  which  had  for  its  bait  the  sight  of  her  lover.  Had 
she  consulted  any  of  her  friends,  Mr.  Stebbing,  Mr.  Brooks,  Mr 
Notcutt,  or  her  beloved  mistress,  she  would  not  have  fallen  a  prey 
to  the  artful  villainy  of  a  wicked  man  ;  but  Margaret  had  forgotten 
at  this  time  her  mistress,  and  every  other  consideration,  except 
the  all-engrossing  subject  which  filled  her  heart ;  and  she  saw  neither 
danger  nor  difficulty,  right  nor  wrong,  but  was  ready  to  go  any- 
where, or  to  do  anything,  provided  she  could  only  have  an  explana- 
tion with  Laud. 


TIl£    HISTORY    Of    MARGARET    CATCIlTOLE.  213 

"  Why,  Margaret,  is  that  you  ?  "  said  John  Cook  as  he  met  her, 
turning  the  corner  of  the  Chaise  and  Pair,  on  the  evening  of  the 
9th  of  May  ;  "why,  where  have  you  been  all  these  livelong  days  ? 
And  what  are  you  doing  now  in  Ipswich  %  " 

"Iara  in  search  of  Laud  :  have  you  seen  or  heard  anything  of 
him  to-day  ?  " 

'•'Yes,  that  I  have;  you  are  in  luck  to  meet  with  the  only 
person  in  the  world  who  could  tell  you  where  he  is  1  But  this  is 
not  the  place  to  be  talking  secrets.  Come  with  me  to  the  Marquis 
Cornwallis,  where  Laud  and  I  have  spent  a  merry  time,  and  I 
will  tell  you  all  about  him." 

There  was  no  difficulty  in  persuading  her  to  accompany  him. 
and  on  arriving  at  the  inn,  Margaret  found  by  this  fellow's 
conversation  with  the  landlord,  that  Laud  and  he  had  spent  the 
previous  evening  at  that  house.  This  confirmed  her  belief  in  his 
story,  and  enabled  him  to  make  her  the  easy  dupe  of  all  the  vile 
inventions  which  were  to  iollow. 

They  requested  that  they  might  have  the  parlour  to  themselves  ; 
and  the  ever-liberal  Margaret  ordered  some  refreshment,  though 
she  could,  from  her  anxiety,  partake  of  nothing  herself. 

"  Well,  I  promised  you  I  would  tell  you  all  about  Laud  ;  but 
first  let  me  tell  you  that  I  set  him  right  about  your  ugly  speech 
that  night  when  you  got  such  a  ducking." 

"  Did  you  ?  did  you,  indeed  ?  What  did  he  say  to  it  ]  Did  he 
forgive  me  ? " 

'•  Did  he  1  Ay  !  I'll  tell  you  what,  I  never  saw  a  fellow  so 
dumb-foundered  before.  He  looked  almost  like  a  madman,  cursed 
his  star3,  and  swore  they  were  all  confederate  against  him.  He 
s;vore  you  were  the  best  creature  in  the  world,  and  if  he  could  but 
see  you,  he  would  make  you  happy." 

"  Oh,  John  !  how  good  you  were  to  tell  him  !  But  where  is  he  ? 
Is  he  in  Ipswich  ?     Do  bring  me  to  him." 

"  Hold  hard  a  bit  ;  I  must  let  you  into  a  little  bit  of  a  secret. 
You  must  know  that  Laud  and  I  are  upon  such  intimate  terms, 
that  we  communicate  by  a  kind  of  expression  known  only  to 
ourselves.  He,  as  you  know,  went  back  to  smuggling  again  after 
your  rap,  though  that  was  not  intentional  on  your  part.  He  did 
not  go  to  sea,  but  entered  upon  the  timber  trade,  though  he 
employed  about  twenty  men  under  him  to  carry  on  his  traffic. 
Now  I  know  he  would  have  gone  in  search  of  your  hiding-place,  if 


214  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET  CATCIIPOLE. 

he  had  not  been  compelled  to  hide  himself.  The  fact  is,  he  is 
escaped  from  an  arrest  for  five  hundred  pounds,  which  he  was 
bound  to  pay  to  the  Excise,  and  but  for  a  very  lucky  turn  he 
would  have  been  nabbed  last  night." 

"  Well,  but  where  is  he  now  ? " 

"  I  will  tell  you  where  he  may  be  found  to-morrow.  All  I  know- 
now  is,  that  he  took  the  mail  last  night,  by  the  greatest  good  luck 
in  the  world,  and  went  off  to  London.  He  is  to  write  to  me  to- 
night, and  I  shall  be  able  to  tell  you  to-morrow." 

That  this  was  all  a  mere  invention  of  this  rascal's,  to  get  out  of 
Margaret  all  he  could,  the  reader  will  easily  believe.  Lucky  was  it 
for  her  that  she  did  not  tell  him  what  sum  of  money  she  had 
belonging  to  Laud,  or  every  farthing  of  it  would  have  gone  into 
this  fellow's  hands.  As  it  was,  he  managed  to  get  out  of  her  what 
little  cash  she  could  spare,  under  the  promise  of  revealing  to  her 
the  hiding-place  of  Laud.  After  chatting  with  him  a  long  time, 
and  hearing  much  of  herself  and  her  lover,  all  pure  inventions  of 
this  fellow's  brain,  and  easily  detected  by  any  person  with  less 
blindness  upon  the  subject,  Margaret  took  her  leave  of  him,  giving 
him  half-a-crown  to  spend.  She  returned  to  the  Widow  Syers', 
and,  as  might  be  supposed  passed  a  feverish  night,  restless  with 
nervous  anxiety.  Poor  girl !  she  little  thought  of  the  mischief 
then  brooding  for  her  ruin. 

The  morrow  came,  bringing  a  letter  to  John  Cook,  of  a  very 
different  description  to  that  which  Margaret  anticipated.  It  ran 
thus  : — 

"Dog  atcd  Eoxe,  Lambeth, 
"  May  &tk,  1797. 
"  Jack,—!  sold  the  bay  mare  at  Smithfield  yesterday.  I  might 
ha'  got  more,  but  the  nabs  were  about  ;  so  I  wopt  her  off  for 
ten.  Old  Snacks,  at  the  Bone  here,  got  his  'centage.  I  crabbed 
the  old  chap  as  well  as  I  could  ;  but  he's  up  to  snuff.  You  wouldn't 
ha'  known  old  Peggy  again.  We  blacked  her  white  legs,  and  popt 
a  white  face  on  to  her,  gave  her  a  rat's  tail,  filed  her  teeth,  and 
burnt  her  mark,  and  wop  me  if  I  mightc-nt  ha'  sold  her  for  a  six- 
year  old,  if  I  hadn't  been  in  a  hurry.  But  she's  off,  they  tell  me, 
to  serve  in  a  foreign  country.  She's  a  right  good  un,  though  an 
oli'n.     All's  honour  bright,  Jack  ! 

"  I  say,  old  boy,  we  talked  o'  the  brown  nag  ;  can  ye  send  him  up 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  215 

to  Chelmsford?  or  if  to  the   Dog  and   Bone,  direct  to   your  old 
chum, 

u  Dob  Bush, 

"  Sam  Snacks, 

"  Dog  and  Zone,  Lambeth. 
<:To  Jonx  Cook, 
"Marquis  Cornwallls,  9 

"  Ipswich,  Suffolk." 

This  letter,  which  was  found  some  days  after  at  the  inn,  and 
delivered  up  to  the  constable  of  the  parish  of  St.  Margaret's,  may 
serve  to  show  the  connection  which  this  fellow  had  with  a  gang  of 
horse-stealers,  who,  at  this  time,  infested  the  countries  of  Essex, 
Norfolk,  and  Suffolk.  The  brown  nag  here  mentioned  was  one 
which  had  been  turned  off  in  the  pastures  of  St.  Margaret's, 
belonging  to  John  Cobbold,  Esq.  He  was  a  high-spirited  little 
horse,  and  aged.  The  eyes  of  this  rogue  had  been  upon  him,  and 
a  most  diabolical  project  now  entered  his  brain,  of  making  Margaret 
Catchpole,  whose  early  feats  of  riding  were  not  unknown  to  him, 
the  minister  of  this  theft. 

"  I  shall  make  something  out  of  her  now,"  said  the  fellow,  "  if 
I  can  only  play  upon  her  feelings.     How  shall  I  do  it  1  " 

A  thought  struck  him  that  he  would  tear  off  the  half  of  the  letter 
containing  the  postmark,  and  paste  one  which  he  would  invent, 
on  that  half,  and  sign  it  for  Will  Laud.  Margaret  knew  little  or 
nothing  of  Will's  handwriting,  so  that  she  could  easily  be  deceived 
in  this  respect  ;  and  if  she  knew  that  it  was  not  his,  the  fellow  was 
ready  enough  to  swear  that  he  had  hurt  his  hand  by  the  falling 
of  a  spar,  and  so  got  a  friend  to  write  it  for  him.  He  put  his  wits 
to  work,  and  concocted  an  epistle  as  nearly  pertinent  to  what  he 
had  made  out  Laud's  case  to  be,  as  he  could. 

He  dated  it  from  the  same  place  from  whence  he  received  his 
own,  and  intended  to  write  to  Bob  Bush  to  take  the  horse  off  Mar- 
garet's hands,  if  he  could  get  her  on  to  it.     He  wrote  thus  :— ■ 

"Dog  and  Bone,  Lambeth. 
"May  Oth,  1797. 
M  Dear   Jack, — "  Hurrah,    my  boy  !     Safely  anchored,  though  I 
had  to  cut  my  cable  and  run  ;  but  I  have  got  into  a  friendly  port 
and  my  pursuers  shan't   easily  find  me.     Precious  hard,  though, 
Jack,  after  just  finding  out  my  girl,  to  have  to  tack  and  leave  her. 


2 1 6  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCIIPOLE. 

You  might  lend  a  hand  now,  just  to  serve  an  old  friend.  Margaret 
would  make  my  present  dull  time  a  little  lighter,  if  you  could  but 
find  her  up,  and  put  her  on  the  right  road  to  find  me.  I  think  she 
would  forgive  me,  if  you  could  explain  matters  a  little  to  her.  Tell 
her  we  could  get  married  here,  and  after  a  time  all  would  be  well. 
But,  Jack,  mum  must  be  the  order  of  the  day.  Don't  you  fire  a 
volley  at  me  until  she's  off  to  London.  She  must  come  incog, 
Jack  ;  ay,  in  man's  clothes,  if  she  can  :  you  know  why.  A  thought 
strikes  me,  which  if  you  put  it  into  her  head,  will  just  suit  her, 
and  me  too.  Persuade  her  to  borrow  the  old  pony  of  her  master's, 
from  the  pasture  on  the  Woodbridge  road,  or  to  take  it  with  French 
leave.  It  is  worth  nothing,  and  will  never  be  inquired  after  ;  and  if 
disposed  of,  will  scarcely  be  missed.  And  if  she  was  found  out,  it 
would  only  bo  treated  as  a  good  spree !  So,  Jack,  try  her ;  she 
has  a  spirit  equal  to  the  work,  and  we  shall  then  be  no  more  parted. 
Now,  do  this  for, 

M  Your  old  friend, 

"  Will  Laud." 

Margaret  read  this  letter  with  mingled  feelings  of  pain  and 
pleasure,  but  she  implicitly  believed  every  word  of  it,  yet  she  did 
not  like  Laud's  plan.  "  Why  not  go  and  borrow  the  horse  of  old 
Teager,"  said  she,  "  if  it  must  be  so  ]     I  know  he  will  lend  it  to  me." 

"  What,  and  tell  him  you  want  his  stable-dress  to  ride  to 
London  in  ?  Fine  fun  he'd  make  of  it,  would  he  not  (  No,  no, 
Margaret,  that  will  never  do.  We  must  take  it  with  French  leave, 
or  let  it  alone." 

"  I  wish  I  could  see  him  by  some  other  means.  I  do  not  like 
his  plan  ;  and  yet,  perhaps,  he  has  none  other  to  offer." 

"  I  can  tell  you  he  is  not  the  man  to  offer  it  if  he  has,"  said 
Cook.  "  Once  put  him  off  again,  and  it  will  be  long  enough  before 
you  ever  see  or  hear  of  him  again. " 

Margaret  felt  that  such  would  be  the  case,  and  yielded  to  the 
artful  duplicity  of  this  wicked  man,  and  agreed  to  meet  him  the 
next  night  to  put  their  wild  plan  in  practice.  But  as  hear  en  willed 
that  she  should  have  one  more  chance  of  escape  from  the  evil  which 
threatened  her,  the  excitement  which  she  suffered  brought  on 
an  attack  of  fever  that  very  night,  and  she  was  laid  up  for  many 
days.  The  warning,  however,  was  in  vain  ;  and  so  soon  as  she 
recovered,  she  agreed  to  put  their  plan  in  execution. 


THE    HISTORY    OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  21 7 

It  wa3  on  the  23rd  of  May  that  Margaret  met  John  Cook  at  the 
place  before  appointed,  having  previously  bought  herself  a  hat  and 
a  pair  of  boots.  But  now  a  new  obstacle  presented  itself,  which 
like  the  one  just  alluded  to,  might  have  served  as  a  new  warning, 
had  any  religious  feelings  found  place  in  Margaret's  mind  and 
heart.  They  went  into  the  meadow,  and  for  more  than  an  hour 
tried  to  catch  the  horse.  Bat  it  was  all  in  vain;  he  would  be 
caught  by  nobody  but  old  Teager. 

What  wa3  to  be  done  now  ? 

"  This  is  a  turn  I  did  not  bargain  for,"  said  John  Cook,  "and  I 
have  written  to  Laud  to  say  you  will  be,  without  fail,  at  the  p'ace  I 
shall  tell  you  of  when  you  are  once  mounted.  A  horse  we  came 
for,  and  a  horse  we  will  have,  for  I  would  not  disappoint  the 
captain  for  a  hundred  horses  ;  so  follow  me,  Margaret." 

The  girl  hesitated,  and  inquired  what  it  was  he  proposed  to  do. 

"Xot  many  yards  off,  in  yonder  stable,  there  are  two  noble 
horses  that  are  worth  riding  ;  you  shall  take  one  of  them." 

' '  Do  you  mean  the  carriage-horses  ?     I  dare  not  ride  one  of  them."' 

"  Nonsense,  girl  !  If  you  don't  come  along  and  just  do  as  I  bid 
you,  hang  me  if  I  don't  write  to  Laud,  and  tell  him  you  don't  care 
anything  about  him.  Come  along  !  I  mu3t  help  you  over  the  low 
wall  against  the  end  of  the  garden.  Come  along  !  You  have  fairly 
begun  the  work  ;  don't  give  it  up." 

Margaret  never  wanted  courage  until  that  moment,  and  then  she 
followed,  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 

The  fellow  got  on  to  the  wall  and  assisted  her  up  and  down.  He 
then  went  across  the  lawn  to  the  stable-yard  with  the  trembling 
Margaret  at  lib  heels  ;  they  found  the  stable-door  locked  ;  but  the 
wicket  at  the  side,  by  the  muck  bin,  was  unhanked  and  stood  ajar. 
Margaret  got  into  the  stable  through  this  place,  and  slipped  back 
the  bolt  of  the  stable-door;  the  horses  had  been  accustomed  to 
her  coming  into  the  stable  for  straw  for  her  fire,  and  she  had 
often  spoken  to  them  and  patted  them,  so  that  her  voice  now,  as 
she  said,  "  Whoho,  Crop  !  "  and  "  Gently,  Rochford  ! ;J  was  familiar 
to  them  ;  and  they  did  not  rise  up  until  John  Cook  entered  and 
began  to  strike  a  light. 

"Now,  Margaret,  pull  the  litter  down  toward  the  stable-door, 
while  I  just  look  into  the  harness-house." 

Rochford,  a  fiery  grey  horse  which  Mr.  Cobbold  had  lately  pur- 
chased from  Lord  Rochford,  at  Easton,  rose  up  and  snorted,  and 


2l8  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

clanked  his  chains  so  terribly,  that  Margaret  expected  every  moment 
that  old  George,  who  slept  over  the  stable,  would  present  himself  ; 
but  the  old  man  was  deaf,  and  heavy  in  his  sleep,  and  had  only 
returned  from  Mrs.  Proby's,  of  Stratford,  late  that  evening,  and 
had  not  been  in  bed  above  an  hour,  so  that  he  was  in  his  first 
sound  sleep. 

"  Margaret,  you  must  take  this  lantern  and  just  move  the  dark, 
part  round,  and  it  will  show  you  where  the  old  boy's  stable-dress 
is  ;  go  up  the  stairs  carefully,  and  bring  it  down  with  you." 

Margaret  did  so.  She  went  with  breathless  step  to  the  bedside 
of  the  coachman.  His  stable  dress  was  upon  the  floor  ;  she  took  it 
up  gently,  and  as  cautiously  receded  with  it  down  to  the  stable 
again,  closing  the  door  without  noise. 

"  So  far  so  good,  Margaret.  Now,  do  you  dress  yourself  there 
in  the  empty  stall,  while  I  saddle  and  bridle  the  further  horse." 

This,  however,  was  more  than  John  Cook  could  do,  for  Rochford 
was  of  such  a  spirit,  and  sent  out  at  him  with  such  vengeance 
that  he  dared  not  go  up  to  him  ;  nor  could  he  without  Margaret's 
help  put  the  saddle  or  bridle  on  to  Crop.  She  dressed  herself  as 
quickly  as  she  could  in  the  coachman's  stable-dress  ;  he  being  a  little 
fellow,  and  Margaret  rather  tall,  they  only  hung  about  her  a  little 
loosely,  but  were  not  too  long  for  her.  When  she  came  from  the 
stall,  after  rolling  her  own  things  in  a  bundle,  and  putting  them 
into  the  very  bottom  of  the  seed-box,  under  the  manger,  and 
covering  them  with  hay,  she  looked  exactly  like  a  young  groom. 
She  went  up  to  the  Crop  horse  and  patted  him  on  the  neck,  whilst 
her  companion  saddled  and  bridled  him  ;  she  then  tied  some  straw 
round  his  feet,  so  that  no  noise  should  be  made  in  the  stable-yard, 
and  out  the  gallant  fellow  was  led,  ready  for  such  a  journey,  and 
for  such  a  rider  as  never  before  had  mounted  his  back. 

"Now,  my  girl,"  exclaimed  Cook,  "screw  up  your  courage  to 
the  start  !  Come  into  the  meadow.  '  I  can  let  you  out  on  to  the 
Wood  bridge  road,  and  then  off  with  you." 

"  But  where  am  I  to  find  him  ?  You  have  not  told  me  that," 
exclaimed  Margaret. 

"  Mount  !  and  I  will  tell  you." 

Margaret,  with  his  aid,  was  soon  in  the  saddle,  and  once  there, 
she  felt  her  own  command  over  her  steed. 

"Now,  Margaret,"  he  replied,  "mind  what  I  say  :  you  must  sell 
that  horse  if  you  can,  at  Chelmsford  market  to-morrow  morning ; 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  219 

If  not,  you  must  ride  on  to  the  Bull,  in  Aldgate,  London  ;  but  if 
you  regard  your  own  and  your  lover's  safety,  you  will  sell  the 
horse  first,  and  then  find  your  way  to  the  Dog  and  Bone  public- 
house,  at  Lambeth  ;  there  you  will  find  Will  Laud  expecting  you. 
Sell  the  horse  for  all  you  can  get ;  say  he  i3  worth  a  hundred 
guineas,  and  that  your  master,  Squire  John  Cook,  sent  you  up  to 
Bell  him." 

The  horse  was  a  strawberry  roan  colour,  remarkable  for  his  action, 
and  the  spirit  with  which  he  went  through  a  journey.  His  ears 
were  short  enough,  for,  in  accordance  with  a  barbarous  practice  of 
that  day,  they  were  cropped  ;  few  that  ever  knew  the  horse  could 
forget  him  ;  in  harness  he  carried  himself  as  proudly  as  if  he  had 
been  trained  to  exhibit  his  beauty,  but  this  was  his  constant  habit ; 
his  spirit  was  such,  that  he  was  never  touched  with  a  whip,  and 
never  exhibited  the  least  disposition  to  restiveness  ;  free,  easy, 
gentle,  noble,  swift,  untiring,  graceful,  and  grand — he  was  admired 
wherever  he  went ;  and  the  short  coachman,  who  occasionally  used 
to  ride  him,  made  him,  a  sixteen-hand  horse,  look  at  least  a  hand 
higher.  What  an  object  was  Margaret  Catchpole  upon  him  !  Her 
spirit  was  up  as  well  as  Crop's ;  her  resolution  to  go  through  all 
she  had  undertaken  was  fixed,  and  in  reply  to  John  Cook's  ques- 
tion, when  they  came  to  the  paddock-gate,  "  -Are  you  ready, 
Margaret  ?  "  she  replied,  "  Quite  ready  !  " 

"And  now,  off  with  you,"  said  the  fellow,  as  he  opened  the 
gate.  "  Remember  tli3  '  Dog  and  Bone.'  A  hundred  guineas  f<  r 
the  horse,  and  you  will  be  a  happy  woman  ;  "  and  off  started  poor 
Margaret  at  a  sweeping  pace  for  the  London  road. 

St.  Margaret's  clock  struck  one,  just  as  she  passed  the  front  of 
that  house  in  which  she  had  lived  so  much  respected,  and  in  which, 
unconscious  of  her  guilt,  slept  the  kindest  master  and  mistress 
that  a  servant  ever  knew. 

But  Margaret  rode  on,  reckless  of  all  the  ills  that  might  await 
her,  and  thinking  only  of  the  lover  that  she  was  to  meet  at  the 
end  of  her  mad  journey. 

The  guard  of  the  mail-coach  observed  to  the  driver  of  the  Ips- 
wich mail,  as  Margaret  met  it,  about  two  miles  before  she  reached 
Colchester,  "  That's  Mr.  Cobbold's  Crop  horse  !  There  must  be 
something  the  matter  in  the  family  by  the  pace  the  groom  is  goiug. 
Did  you  see  the  fellow's  stable-dress  up  to  his  knees  ?  There'* 
something  amiss,  or  the  horse  is  stolen." 


2  20  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

When  he  came  to  Ipswich,  the  man  mentioned  the  circumstance 
at  the  coach-oflice,  and  said  he  was  positive  something  was  wrong. 

Mr.  Bailey,  the  postmaster,  immediately  sent  a  messenger  with 
a  note,  to  inform  Mr.  Cobbold  that  the  guard  had  met  some  one 
riding  his  horse  very  fast  on  the  London  road. 

It  was  five  o'clock  when  the  man  rang  loudly  at  the  porch-bell ; 
the  footman  came  down  in  a  great  hurry  and  carried  up  the  note 
to  his  master's  room,  who  quickly  ordered  him  to  go  to  the  stable 
and  see  if  George  Teager  and  the  horses  were  safe.  He  ran  to 
the  stable,  and  true  enough,  he  found  the  Crop  horse  gone.  He 
called  out  to  George,  whom,  at  first,  he  suspected  of  having  gone 
off  with  the  horse,  "  Hullo,  George  ;  Crop  is  gone  !  " 

The  old  man  jumped  up.     "  What's  the  matter  ?    Who  calls  ? " 

"One  of  the  horses  is  stolen,  George;  you  must  come  down 
immediately  ;  it  was  met  two  miles  this  side  of  Colchester  !  " 

"  Come,  come,  Tom,  none  o'  your  tricks  !  this  is  only  some  of 
your  nonsense  :  can't  ye  let  an  old  fellow  rest  in  his  bed  without 
playing  off  your  boys'  tricks  1  what  have  you  done  with  my  stable- 
dress  1 " 

This  made  Thomas  bolt  upstairs. 

"  I  know  nothing  of  your  stable-dress  ;  I  tell  you  master  will 
be  here  in  a  minute  :  on  with  your  livery.  I'll  be  whipped  if  some- 
body has  not  stolen  tho  fustians  !  Come,  old  boy,  this  is  no  fun, 
it's  as  true  as  you  are  staring  there  ;  so  up  with  you." 

George  found  by  his  companion's  earnest  maimer  that  he  spoke 
the  truth,  and  putting  on  his  livery  he  came  down;  he  was,  as  many 
a  man  at  his  age  and  in  his  situation  would  be,  much  bewildered. 
He  ascertained,  however,  that  the  thief  had  taken  his  master's 
new  saddle  and  bridle,  and  a  small  stick  of  his  own.  He  observed 
that  it  must  have  been  an  old  practitioner,  by  the  straw  being 
littered  down  to  the  door,  and  pointed  out  to  Thomas  that  the 
horse's  hoofs  had  been  covered  with  straw  to  prevent  them 
clattering  on  the  pavement  of  the  yard.  Hi3  master  soon  came 
down  and  easily  tracked  the  horse  to  the  paddock  gate.  Of  course 
all  the  family  were  roused.  "  Go  directly,  George,  up  to  Mr. 
Spink's,  the  dealer's,  who  got  this  horse  for  me,  and  knows  him  as 
well  as  you  do,  and  order  a  post-chaise  from  the  Lion,  and  bring 
Mr.  Spink  here.  You  must  both  of  you  pursue  the  thief,  even 
to  London.     Be  as  quick  as  you  can." 

In  the  meantime  a  handbill  was  written  and  sent  to  Mr.  Jack- 


THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  221 

son's,  of  the  M  County  Press,"  with  a  request  that  copies  might 
be  struck  off  immediately,  in  time  for  the  nine  o'clock  coaches  to 
London.     It  was  to  this  effect  : — 

"twenty  guineas  reward. 

"Whereas,  last  night,  or  this  morning,  May  24th,  a  fine  straw- 
berry roan  grey  gelding  was  stolen  out  of  the  stable  of  John 
Cobbold,  Esq.,  of  St.  Margaret's  Green,  Ipswich,  together  with  a 
new  saddle  and  bridle,  and  the  coachman's  stable-dress.  Whoever 
shall  give  information  of  the  robber,  so  as  to  lead  to  the  recovery 
of  the  horse,  or  the  conviction  of  the  offender,  shall  receive  the 
above  reward  at  the  hands  of  the  owner. 

"N.B.  The  horse  is  sixteen  hands  high,  has  cropped  ears,  is  six 
years  old,  has  a  cut  tail,  and  is  very  strong  and  very  fast. 

"  Irswicn,  May  21th,  1797." 

This  was  struck  off  as  soon  as  possible,  and  circulated  over  the 
town  and  through  the  country,  by  every  vehicle  leaving  the  town. 

It  was  about  seven  o'clock  when  old  Teager  and  Mr.  Spink  left 
Ipswich  for  Colchester,  so  that  Margaret  had  some  hours'  start  of 
her  pursuers.  As  they  went  on  they  heard  at  every  toll-gate  of  a 
young  man  having  gone  through  on  just  the  description  of  horse 
given,  so  that  it  was  a  warm  scent  before  them. 

When  they  arrived  at  Chelmsford,  through  a  misdirection  of 
some  person,  they  were  told  that  the  same  horse  was  seen  going 
on  to  Maldon,  in  the  hundreds  of  Essex  ;  and  they  had  just 
given  the  post-boy  orders  to  turn  off  the  London  road  in  pursuit, 
as  Mr.  Alston,  of  Diss,  rode  into  the  yard  of  the  Black  Boy  as 
the  pursuers  were  in  the  act  of  getting  into  the  chaise. 

"Pray,  sir,  may  I  be  so  bold  as  to  ask  if  you  came  far  along 
the  London  road  ]  " 

"  I  left  town  this  morning,  and  am  now  on  my  journey  to 
Manningtree.     Why  do  you  ask  1 " 

"  Because  I  am  in  pursuit  of  a  thief.  You  did  not  chance  to 
meet  a  man  riding  a  strawberry  roan  carriage-horse  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  did  ;  and  remarked  at  the  time  that  I  thought  it  was 
the  finest  shaped  horse  I  had  ever  seen.  He  was  a  crop,  with 
high  action  and  bold  crest." 

"It  is  the  very  horse!  Whereabouts  might  you  meet  him, 
sir  ?  " 

(i  I  met  him  I  should  say  about  five  miles  on  the  other  side  of 


222  THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

Romford,  near  to  Ilford.  It  was  about  nine  o'clock.  I  remarked 
to  myself,  what  a  fool  the  lad  must  be  who  was  riding  him,  that 
he  did  not  manage  to  fasten  his  overalls  down  at  his  ankles,  as  I 
could  see  his  stockings  up  to  his  knees.  Some  gentleman  I 
thought  was  sending  him  into  livery  stables." 

"We  are  greatly  obliged  to  you,  sir.  On,  boy,  on!"  and  the 
post-chaise  dashed  out  of  the  yard. 

But  for  the  accidental  meeting  of  Mr.  Alston  it  is  very  probable 
Margaret  would  have  escaped  ;  but  the  information  thus  given  put 
the  pursuers  on  the  right  scent,  just  in  the  right  time. 

Meantime  let  us  accompany  Margaret  on  her  perilous  expedition. 
She  had  actually  ridden  the  horse  from  Ipswich  to  London  in  tho 
space  of  eight  hours  and  a  half  ;  it  being  seventy  miles  from  that 
place  to  the  Bull,  in  Aldgate.  She  only  stopped  once  on  the  road, 
at  a  small  public  house,  called  the  Trowel  and  Hammer,  at  Marks 
Tey,  in  Essex  ;  here  she  gave  her  gallant  horse  a  feed  of  corn,  and 
had  a  glass  of  brandy  and  water  and  a  biscuit.  It  was  just  five 
o'clock  when  she  baited.  She  dared  not  to  offer  the  horse  for  sale 
at  Chelmsford  for  fear  of  detection,  at  such  an  early  hour.  She 
felt  persuaded  that  a  pursuit  would  be  made,  and  hoped  to  hide 
herself  in  the  metropolis  before  her  pursuers  could  reach  her. 
Accordingly,  she  allowed  the  horse  no  more  time  than  was  sufficient 
for  him  to  finish  his  corn,  and  off  she  went  again  for  nearly  five 
hours'  further  ride.  As  she  approached  town  many  were  the  eyes 
directed  towards  her,  both  on  account  of  the  remarkable  character 
of  the  horse,  and  the  singular  appearance  of  the  rider.  Margaret 
took  no  notice  of  any  one,  but  pushed  on  her  willing  steed  with 
the  same  indifference  as  if  she  had  been  sent  upon  an  errand  of 
only  a  few  miles  ;  nor  was  the  horse  apparently  fatigued  in  the 
least  when  they  arrived  at  the  Bull  Inn,  which  they  did  about  half- 
past  nine  o'clock. 

She  rode  quietly  down  the  yard,  called  for  the  ostler,  dismounted, 
shook  her  trousers  down,  and  addressed  the  man  in  as  off-hand  a 
manner  as  if  she  were  a  real  groom. 

"  Rub  that  horse  down  well,  and  get  him  cool  and  comfortable  ; 
give  him  a  sup  of  water  and  a  mouthful  of  hay,  and  I  will  come 
and  see  him  fed." 

"  Have  you  rode  far,  young  man  ?  "  asked  the  ostler. 

"  Not  a  very  great  way.  I  came  out  of  Chelmsford  this  morning. 
See  and  rub  his  ears  dry,  ostler.    You  must  make  him  look  as  well 


THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  2  2$ 

03  you  can,  for  I  expect  my  master  up  in  town  to-night  ;  and  if  I 
don't  meet  with  a  customer  for  that  horse  he'll  blow  me  up." 

"  He's  a  very  fine  horse  ;  and  if  as  good  as  he  looks,  would  be 
worth  any  man's  money." 

"  He's  better  than  he  looks,  ostler  :  and  'tisn't  any  man's  money 
that  will  buy  him.  He  must  give  a  good  price  for  him,  whoever 
bays  him.  But  look  well  after  him.  I  must  go  and  get  a  bait 
myself." 

She  went  into  the  bar,  ordered  her  breakfast,  took  up  the  news- 
paper, and  with  all  the  airs  of  a  consequential  young  jockey  sat 
down  to  the  perusal  of  it.  After  taking  some  refreshment  she  got 
up  to  see  her  horse  fed. 

The  ostler,  finding  so  fine  a  horse  was  for  sale,  apprised  a  livery- 
stable-keeper  of  his  acquaintance,  who  on  hearing  his  representa- 
tion hastened  to  look  at  him.  Margaret  was  called  out  ;  the 
animal  exhibited;  undervalued  by  the  dealer  in  the  style  so  char- 
acteristic of  such  gentry  ;  and  his  good  qualifications  well  vouched 
for  by  the  young  groom. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  better  shape  ? "  exclaimed  Margaret. 
"  Look  at  his  fore-end  ;  there's  a  crest,  there's  a  shoulder, 
there's  a  head  !  Look  at  his  legs,  as  straight  and  clean  as  a  colt's  ; 
and  as  for  quarters,  where  will  you  find  such  for  strength  and 
beauty  ?  He's  six-year  old  next  gras3  ;  has  never  done  any  hard 
work  before  this  day  ;  and  you  won't  find  a  puff  as  big  as  a  pea  in 
any  of  his  sinews.  Quiet  to  ride  or  drive,  and  without  a  fault. 
Now,  what's  the  matter  with  him  ?  " 

This  was  such  a  poser  to  the  dealer  that  he  could  only  reply  by 
asking,  "  Can  I  have  a  warranty  with  him  ? " 

"  To  be  sure  you  can,"  said  Margaret.  "  You  may  have  a 
written  one  from  me  ;  or,  if  you  like  better  to  deal  with  my 
master,  you  may  wait  till  he  comes  up,  and  then  he'll  give  you  a 
character,  and  perhaps  you'll  make  a  better  bargain  with  him  than 
you  will  with  me.'' 

"  Are  you  authorised  to  sell  the  horse  ]  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  am,  or  ehe  I  should  not  stand  here  to  talk  with 
you  about  him." 

"  Who  does  he  belong  to,  young  man  ?  " 

"  He  belongs  to  my  master,  Mr.  Cook,  of  Tpswich,  in  Suffolk. ■ 

"  What  do  you  want  for  him  ?  " 

M  One  hundred  guineas." 


2  24  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCIIPOLE. 

"  May  I  take  Lira  for  a  trial  ? n 

u  Yes ;  when  you  have  bought  and  paid  for  him.  He  is  not  to 
go  out  of  my  sight  until  I  receive  the  money  for  him,  or  deliver 
the  horse  himself  into  my  master's  charge." 

u  I  should  like  to  see  him  down  our  ride  ;  I  could  better  judge  of 
his  paces." 

"  Clap  the  saddle  on  him.  I  will  ride  him  where  you  like  ;  or  I 
will  let  yoa  drive  rne  with  him  ;  but  I  do  not  trii3t  any  one  eke 
with  him  whilst  he  is  in  my  care." 

The  saddle  and  bridle  were  put  on,  and  Crop  came  out  of  the 
stable  free,  and  ready  to  trot  back  again  to  Ipswich  if  his  rider 
was  so  disposed.  He  was  as  fresh  and  joyous  as  a  lark,  and  sprang 
up  into  the  air  with  almost  as  light  a  heart.  Margaret  mounted 
awkwardly  ;  put  her  foot  into  the  stirrup  the  wrong  way  ;  and 
perceiving  that  this  was  noticed,  she  crossed  the  stirrups  over  the 
saddle  in  front  of  her,  saying, 

"  My  master  always  makes  me  ride  without  stirrups,  and  I  like  it 
best." 

In  truth  she  sat  the  horse  better  without  them  ;  and  had  she 
had  no  saddle,  it  would  have  suited  her  even  better  still ;  but 
this  seemed  to  have  the  desired  effect. 

The  dealer,  however,  entertained  some  suspicions  from  the 
awkward  manner  of  the  groom,  and  having  already  suffered  for 
purchasing  a  stolen  horse,  he  wa3  more  on  his  guard  than  he  other 
wise  might  have  been. 

They  went  out  of  the  stable-yard  together,  and  reached  the  ride 
belonging  to  the  dealer,  and  Margaret  turned  her  horse  in  as  she 
was  directed.  The  stable-lads  peeped  out  to  see  what  kind  of  nag 
their  master  was  buying,  and  were  not  satisfied  with  a  glance,  but 
looked  with  much  admiration  at  him. 

"  Just  trot  him  down  the  ride,  young  man." 

Margaret  dashed  him  down  the  yard  and  back  again. 

11  Soho  !  my  fine  fellow  !  Peter,"  he  said  to  his  head  man,  ''just 
come  and  look  at  this  nag." 

Peter  stepped  forward,  and  gave  his  master  a  knowing  look,  as 
much  as  to  say,  <(  Am  I  to  decry  him  ?  * 

u  Look  at  his  mouth." 

Peter  did  so. 

"How  is  it,  Peter?" 

"All  right,  sir." 


The  history  of  Margaret  catchpole.  225 

11  What's  his  age  ? * 

"  Rising  six." 

"  What  do  you  say  to  him  1  * 

Peter  looked  at  every  point,  then  scratched  his  head,  and  again 
looked  at  his  master  ;  but  he  received  no  sign  to  manoeuvre  ;  so 
he  replied,  "  Why,  master,  if  you  ask  for  truth  you  shall  have  it. 
lie's  a  right  good  one  ;  that  is  it." 

"Well,  young  man,  now  what  is  the  lowest  price  you  will 
take  1  " 

"I  told  you  his  price  when  you  asked  me  before.  You  don't 
expect  me  to  lower  the  price  of  my  own  horse  without  a  bid  ! 
What  do  you  say  you  will  give  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  don't  know  !  He's  not  every  man's  horse  !  Not  easily 
matched  ;  and  not  suited  for  a  town  horse  :  but  I'll  bid  you  fifty 
guineas  for  him." 

"Thank  you  for  your  bid,  sir;  but  you  must  come  nigh  to 
double  that  before  you'll  buy.'' 

"  Will  you  take  sixty  for  him  ?  " 

"No;  I  will  not." 

"  Will  you  take  seventy  ?  Come  now,  I'll  give  you  seventy. 
You  may  go  a  long  way  before  you'll  get  such  another  offer.  Say, 
will  you  take  it  1 " 

"  Add  another  ten  to  it,  and  it  shall  be  a  bargain.  I  will  take 
eighty." 

"  Just  walk  him  down  again.  Peter,  what  do  you  think  of 
him  ? " 

"  He's  worth  the  money  ;  that's  what  I  say.     Bay  him,  master." 

"  Well,  young  man,  111  take  the  horse,  but  you  must  give  me  a 
written  warranty  with  him.'' 

"  That  I'll  do  ;  but  perhaps  you'll  not  like  to  conclude  the 
bargain  without  master's  warranty :  if  so,  we  had  better  not 
exactly  conclude  the  price." 

This  so  took  the  dealer  aback,  that  it  drove  away  all  suspicions, 
and  he  said,  "No,  no;  your  warranty  will  do.  I'll  give  you  the 
money."  He  was  in  the  act  of  going  to  the  gateway  as  he  saw  one 
of  his  men  come  into  the  yard,  with  a  paper  in  his  hand,  which 
proved  to  be  one  of  the  identical  hand-bills,  offering  a  reward  of 
twenty  guineas  for  the  very  horse  he  had  just  bought.  "  Peter," 
he  called  out,  "  tell  the  young  man  just  to  walk  that  horse  once 
more  up  the  yard,  and  come  you  here." 


226  THE  HISTORY  OF   MARGARET  CATCHPOlE. 

lie  showed  Peter  the  bill,  who  said  :  "  It's  the  very  horse  !  " 

"  Go  you  and  fetch  a  constable  ;  I'll  keep  him  in  play  a  bit  until 
he  comes." 

11  He's  a  charming  shaped  horse,  young  man.  I'd  just  a  mind  to 
ask  you  if  you'd  throw  the  saddle  and  bridle  into  the  bargain." 

"  Why,  master  told  me  I  might  sell  that  if  I  pleased,  and  if  I 
sold  well,  that  should  be  my  perquisite." 

"I  see  'tis  a  country-made  saddle;  but  it  looks  pretty  go  3d. 
What  will  you  have  for  it  1  " 

"  Four  guineas  for  both.  Come,  I  have  let  you  take  the  horse  at 
much  less  than  he  is  worth  ;  you  can  afford  to  give  me  a  fair  price 
for  the  saddle  and  bridle,  which  are,  you  see,  quite  new." 

By  this  time  Peter  returned  with  the  constable  ;  but  Margaret 
was  joking  about  the  saddle  and  bridle,  and  greatly  rejoicing  at 
her  success,  not  the  least  conscious  of  the  presence  of  the  man 
of  the  law,  or  of  the  dreadful  fate  which  awaited  her. 

"  Did  you  say  that  horse  came  from  Ipswich,  young  man  ?  "  said 
the  dealer. 

"  I  did,"  said  she. 

"  When  did  he  leave  Ipswich  ?  " 

"  Yesterday." 

"  Did  you  leave  with  him  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  did  ;  I  told  you  so." 

"  No,  you  didn't ;  you  told  me  jTou  rode  him  from  Chelmsford P 

11  So  I  did  ;  and  from  Ipswich  too/' 

"  What  was  your  master's  name  ]  " 

<l  Mr.  John  Cook,"  said  Margaret,  who  now  began  to  feel  a  little 
uneasy. 

"Are  you  sure  it  was  not  Mr.  John  Cobbold?  Look  at  that 
hand-bill,  young  man." 

Margaret  saw  only  her  master's  name,  and  all  her  fortitude  for- 
sook her  ;  she  swrooned  away  in  a  moment,  and  would  have  fallen 
from  the  horse  had  not  the  constable  caught  her  by  her  jacket  a3 
she  was  falling ;  and  in  endeavouring  to  support  her  off  the  horse 
the  jacket  flew  open,  and  to  the  astonishment  of  all  around,  lo,  and 
behold,  it  was  a  woman  ! 

Margaret  was  taken  into  custody ;  and  such  a  hubbub  was 
created  in  the  neighbourhood,  that  the  story  of  a  female  horse- 
stealer  was  soon  spread  abroad,  and  people  began  to  crowd  into  the 
yard.     Among  the  multitude  was  a  son-in-law  of  Mr.  Cobbold's, 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  2  2f 

who  happened  to  be  in  town  at  the  time,  and  identified  both  the 
horse  and  this  rider.  It  was  not  long  before  the  coachman  and 
Mr.  Spink  made  their  appearance,  and  she  was  taken  before  a 
magistrate,  and  immediately  committed  to  Newgate,  until  further 
evidence  could  be  produced. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

PREPARATION   FOR   TRIAL. 


Margaret  Catchpole  was  taken  into  custody;  and  whilst  she  was 
spending  a  dismal  night  in  the  dungeon,  a  letter  was  on  the  road 
to  Ipswich,  to  inform  her  master  of  the  capture  of  the  thief. 

The  wretched  young  woman  had  now  time  for  rest  and  reflection. 
Instead  of  meeting  her  lover,  for  which  purpose  alone  she  had 
undertaken  her  desperate  enterprise,  she  had  now  before  her  eyes 
the  terrors  of  the  law,  the  certainty  of  conviction,  the  probability 
of  a  violent  and  shameful  death.  Who  knew  anything  of  the  cause 
which  had  induced  her  to  steal  the  horse,  and  who  would  pity  her 
if  they  did  ?  The  secret  was  known  only  to  herself,  and  she 
resolved  it  should  continue  so,  lest  her  lover  should  be  involved 
in  the  consequences  of  her  guilt. 

It  will  readily  be  believed  that  the  news  of  what  had  happened 
created  no  small  sensation  in  the  minds  of  the  various  members 
of  that  family  who  had  so  dearly  loved  the  miserable  culprit. 

It  was  immediately  arranged  that  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cubbold 
should  go  to  town,  and  they  arrived  about  nine  o'clock  in  the 
evening  at  the  Four  Swans,  Bishopsgate  Street. 

At  the  time  fixed  for  the  examination  of  the  prisoner  before  the 
magistrates,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cobbold  arrived  at  the  Police-office  in 
Whitechapel. 

Many  gentlemen  were  present,  who  having  heard  the  case  men- 
tioned, had  obtained  permission  to  attend. 

The  office  was  crowded,  and  the  street  also,  for  it  was  understood 
that  Margaret  was  to  be  brought  up  for  examination.  Hundreds 
who  knew  nothing  of  the  parties,  but  only  that  a  female  had  stolen 
a  horse,  were  assembled  purely  from  curiosity  to  see  such  a  person. 

Margaret  was  brought  up  in  proper  custody,  and  found  herself 
the  object  of  jokes  and  gibes  amidst  the  thoughtless  rabble  of  the 


228  THE  HISTORY  OF  MARGARET   CATCHPOLB. 

streets.  She  was  conducted  into  an  anteroom  adjoining  the  court-, 
and  as  a  door  opened  into  the  passage  from  the  magistrates'  private 
room,  she  thought  she  heard  her  mistress's  voice.  Another  moment 
convinced  her  that  she  saw  her.  It  was  to  her  a  moment  of  great 
bitterness  and  agony. 

At  the  request  of  the  prosecutor,  she  was  summoned  into  the 
magistrates'  private- room,  before  going  into  the  public  court.  She 
was  terrified  beyond  measure  at  the  idea  of  encountering  the  sight 
of  her  mistress.  She  begged  hard  not  to  be  taken  into  her  presence, 
but  she  was  compelled  to  go  in.  The  moment  she  saw  her  she 
exclaimed:  "Oh,  my  dear  mistress!"  and  fell  to  the  ground. 
She  was  lifted  up  and  placed  in  a  chair;  and  from  her  dreadful 
state  of  agitation,  it  was  agreed  among  the  magistrates  that,  upon 
her  recovery,  her  deposition  should  be  taken  where  she  then  was.. 
Accordingly,  the  clerk  was  summoned  from  the  public  office  into 
the  private  room. 

Her  mistress  as  well  as  herself  was  greatly  affected  at  the  inter- 
view, and  deeply  touched  at  her  distress.  All  the  gentlemen  present 
felt  more  than  commonly  interested  in  the  scene. 

The  girl  slowly  revived  ;  the  gentlemen  took  their  seats,  and  the 
clerk  was  ordered  to  take  down  her  deposition.  The  magistrate 
told  her  that  the  confession  she  had  made,  and  might  now  make, 
would  be  evidence  against  her  on  her  trial,  and  that  she  was  at 
liberty  to  speak,  or  not,  as  she  pleased. 

Having  implored  and  obtained  forgiveness  from  her  master  and 
mistress,  Margaret  became  more  composed,  and  made  a  full  con- 
fession of  her  guilt.  She  acknowledged  that  she  had  been  per- 
suaded, and  even  compelled,  to  this  act  by  a  man  named  John  Cook, 
a  sailor  at  Ipswich,  and  declared  that  she  stole  the  horse  by  his 
direction  and  threats ;  that  she  was  to  have  sold  it  at  Chelmsford, 
but  that  she  dared  not  offer  it  there.  She  did  not  once  betray 
her  lover's  name,  nor  mention  anything  about  his  hiding-place  ;  but 
she  detailed  all  the  particulars  of  the  robbery  with  which  the  reader 
is  acquainted,  and  stated,  as  a  corroborative  fact,  that  her  own 
clothes  would  be  found,  if  not  already  removed,  under  the  manger 
of  the  empty  stall. 

Her  deposition  having  been  then  read  over  to  her  by  the  clerk, 
she  signed  her  name  to  it.  Before  they  parted,  Mrs.  Cobbold  spoke 
to  her  consolingly,  while  she  placed  before  her  mind  the  heinousness 
of  her  offence.    Poor  Margaret  felt  better  after  this,  and  with  a 


the  history  of  Margaret  catchpole.  229 

heart  very  much  humbled,  was  committed  to  Newgate  by  N.  Bond, 
Esq.,  with  an  order  for  her  removal  as  soon  as  the  forms  could  bo 
gone  through,  to  the  gaol  of  the  county  in  which  the  offence  was 
committed.  Mr.  Cobbold  was  bound  over  to  prosecute,  which 
being  done,  that  gentleman  and  his  lady  returned  to  their  hotel. 

Every  effort  was  made  to  discover  the  resort  of  John  Cook  ;  but 
that  scamp,  the  moment  he  heard  of  the  capture,  decamped,  nor 
was  he  ever  after  heard  of.  He  was  well  known  ;  and  the  landlord 
of  the  Marquis  Cornwallis  testified  to  Margaret's  having  been  at  his 
house  with  the  man,  as  also  his  being  at  the  same  place  with 
Captain  Laud,  as  he  was  called,  the  evening  before.  But  what 
became  of  him  no  one  ever  knew.  The  half  of  a  letter  from  his 
companion  in  London  was  found  at  the  inn,  and  was  adduced  to 
show  his  connection  with  a  gang  of  horse-stealers ;  but  this  only 
served  to  tell  against  poor  Margaret  on  her  trial. 

Margaret  was  removed  to  Ipswich  by  habeas  corpus,  July  Gth,  1797, 
and  Mr.  Ripshaw,  the  gaoler,  informed  her  mistress  of  her  arrival. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  Margaret  arrived  at  Ipswich,  she  wrote 
the  following  letter  to  her  mistress.  It  has  been  already  stated 
that  she  had  been  taught  to  read  and  write,  and  keep  accounts,  by 
Mrs.  Cobbold,  when  she  superintended  the  education  of  her  family  ; 
and  the  results  of  this  teaching,  as  exemplified  in  the  touching 
epistles  which  we  shall  hereafter  present  to  the  reader,  will  doubt- 
less be  received  with  singular  interest,  copied  as  they  are  from  the 
orginal  documents,  which  are  carefully  preserved  in  the  family. 
The  following  is  the  first  she  ever  wrote  : — 

"IrswiClT,  Thursday,  July  Cth,  1797. 

"  Honoured  Madam, — Your  wretched  servant  has  this  evening 
a  rived  at  the  county  gaol.  Hope  induced  me  to  look  forward  to  an 
earlier  abode  near  you,  that  I  might  have  the  consolation  of  your 
instruction  and  advice.  Oh  !  my  honoured  lady,  when  I  look  upon 
that  dear  spot  in  which  you  live,  and  see  those  green  fields  before 
your  house,  in  which  I  used  to  walk  and  play  with  your  dear 
children,  I  think  the  more  deeply  of  the  gloom  of  my  felon's  chamber, 
from  which  I  can  even  at  this  moment  behold  them.  They  recall 
to  my  mind  those  happy  hours  in  which  I  enjoyed  your  approbation 
and  respect.  How  wretched  do  I  now  feel !  Oh  !  what  have  I  not 
lost! 

"lam  come  to  Ipswich  to  take  my  trial,  and  am  already  con- 


23O  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCH  POLE* 

I 

demned  by  my  own  conscience  more  severely  than  any  judge  can 

condemn  me.     But  yours  must  be  the  task  to  teach  me  how  to 

escape,  not  the  condemnation  of  the  judge,  but  of  my  own  heart. 

Oh,  my  dear  lady  !  do  come  and  see  me  !     Many  people  were  kind 

to  me  at  Newgate,  and  many  persons  contributed  to  my  necessities  ; 

some  indeed  flattered  ine,  and  called  me  a  brave  girl  for  my  recent 

act,  which  they  termed  clever  and  courageous.     But  if  they  were 

so,  dear  lady,  why  should  I  now  feel  so  much  fear  ?     I  thought  them 

poor  consolers,  and  not  half  such  sincere  friends  as  those  who  told 

me,  as  you  did,  the  greatness  of  my  offence,  and  the  probable  extent 

of  ultimate  punishment. 

"Honoured  madam,  would  you  let  a  messenger  go  to  my  dear 

father  and  tell  him  where  I  am,  and  how  much  I    desire  to  see 

him  1     I  fear  you  will  think  me  very  bold  and  troublesome,  but  I 

know  your  kind  heart  will  make  allowances  for  my  troubled  mind. 

I  should  like  to  see  my  Uncle  Leader.     But  I  should,  first  of  all, 

like  to  see  you,  my  dear  lady.     Perhaps  it  will  not  be  long  before  I 

shall  see  you  no  more.     I  wish  to  make  up  my  mind  to  the  worst, 

but  I  am  at  times  dreadfully  troubled.     I  feel  it  so  hard  to  be 

suddenly  torn  away  from  every  earthly  bond,  and  some  on  earth 

I  do  so  dearly  love  ;  and  none  more  deserves  that  love  than  you 

do      Pray  come  to  me  ;  and  ever  believe  me 

"  Your  grateful,  though 

"  Most  wretched  servant, 

"  Margaret  Catchpole. 

"P.  S. — Mr.  Pupshaw  has  promised  to  send  you  this  letter  this 
evening.     He  tells  me  you  have  often  inquired  for  me." 

The  chaplain  of  the  gaol  was  a  fiiend  of  Mrs.  Cobbold's  ;  she 
wrote  a  note  to  him  requesting  him  to  accompany  her  at  any  hour 
most  convenient  to  himself,  to  see  her  poor  servant.  At  eleven 
o'clock  the  next  day,  the  interview  took  place  between  the  wretched 
culprit  and  this  truly  Christian  lady.  She  spent  some  hours  with 
that  disconsolate  being,  whose  whole  thoughts  seemed  to  be  directed 
with  bitter  agony  to  days  of  past  happiness.  For  though  she  had 
endured  much  mortification  in  early  life,  she  had  experienced  the 
comfort  and  consolation  of  a  true  and  disinterested  friend  and 
benefactress  in  the  person  of  that  kind  mistress,  and  her  naturally 
intelligent  mind  had  duly  appreciated  these  benefits. 

These  visits  were  repeated  many  times,  and  with  the  most  bene- 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  23 1 

ficial  effects  on  the  mind  of  the  culprit.  Her  present  anguish  was 
the  keener,  because  her  sensibilities  were  all  so  acutely  alive  to  the 
memory  of  the  past.  It  was  her  mistress's  endeavour  not  to  suffer 
her  to  be  deceived  with  any  false  hopes.  She  was  well  aware  that 
the  penalty  of  her  crime  was  death,  and  that  unless  her  instigating 
accomplice  could  be  delivered  up  to  justice,  she  stood  every  chance 
of  being  made  a  public  example,  on  account  of  the  great  frequency 
of  the  crime.  To  such  an  extent  had  horse-stealing  been  carried 
on  in  the  counties  of  Suffolk  and  Essex,  that  scarce  a  week  passed 
without  rewards  being  offered  for  the  apprehension  of  the  thieves. 

Margaret's  interviews  with  her  father  and  brother  were  still  more 
deeply  affecting  :  but  to  them  and  to  her  beloved  mistress  alone 
did  she  make  known  the  real  circumstances  attending  her  stealing 
the  horse.  She  did  not  attempt,  however,  to  defend  the  act,  nor 
would  she  admit  that  another's  influence  was  any  exculpation  of 
her  offence.  Mr.  Stebbing,  the  surgeon  of  the  gaol,  who  had  been 
her  first  friend  in  Ipswich,  was  very  kind  to  her,  as  was  likewise 
his  benevolent  daughter,  who  lent  her  many  useful  books.  But 
the  being  she  most  wished  to  see,  and  from  whose  memory  she  had 
never  thought  she  could  have  been  displaced,  came  not  near  her  in 
her  adversity.  "William  Laud  had  been  at  Nacton,  to  see  her 
father  and  brother.  The  report  of  her  confession  had  reached  him 
— he  had  seen  it  in  the  newspapers  ;  and  it  altered  all  his  views 
and  intentions  respecting  her  ;  so  that  the  very  act  which  she  had 
done  in  the  hope  of  strengthening  his  attachment  to  her,  was  the 
direct  cause  of  his  deserting  her.  In  fact,  he  believed  that  she  had 
committed  the  act  from  an  attachment  to  somebody  else,  and  he 
wave  up  all  idea  of  her  for  the  future. 

But  Margaret  was  still  true  to  him.  In  one  of  her  interviews 
with  Mrs  Cobbold,  that  kind  and  good  lady,  referring  to  the  fact  of 
Laud's  not  coming  near  her  in  her  adversity,  said  earnestly — 

11  You  must  endeavour  to  think  less  of  him,  Margaret." 

"  It  is  hard,  madam,"  was  the  reply,  "  for  flesh  and  blood  not  to 
think  of  one  who  has  been  in  one's  thoughts  so  many  year3  of  one's 
life.  In  happy  as  wTell  as  miserable  hours,  I  have  thought  of  him, 
madam,  and  have  always  hoped  for  the  best.  He  is  still  in  all 
my  prayers  !  " 

"  Your  hopes  of  him,  Margaret,  must  now  be  at  an  end.  It 
would  have  been  happier  for  you,  if  they  had  ended  when  you 
lived  with  me  " 


'232  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE, 

"  Perhaps  so,  good  lady  ;  perhaps  so.  Or  even  earlier.  I  think 
now  of  my  poor  sister  Susan's  last  words  :  '  Margaret,  you  will 
never  marry  William  Laud.'  I  had  hoped  that  these  words  were 
only  the  fears  of  the  moment ;  but,  alas  !  I  perceive  they  will  prove 
too  true  ! " 

The  only  diversion  of  Margaret's  mind  at  this  period,  from  a 
fixed  and  undivided  attention  to  heavenly  things,  was  the  one 
hope  of  seeing  Laud.  She  clung  with  tenacity  to  this,  as  a  sort  of 
last  farewell  to  all  things  in  the  world.  She  said,  that  had  she  but 
one  interview  with  him,  she  should  then  have  no  other  wish  but  to 
die. 

Time  flew  fast,  and  the  day  of  her  trial  approached.  She  was 
to  depart  for  Bury,  where  the  assizes  were  held,  early  on  the 
morning  of  the  9th  of  August ;  and,  on  the  preceding  day,  she 
wrote  the  following  letter  to  her  mistress  : — 

"IrswiCH  Gaol,  August  8tk,  1797. 
"  Honoured  Madam, — By  the  time  you  read  this,  which  I  expect 
will  be  at  your  happy  breakfast- table  to-morrow  morning,  your 
poor  servant  will  be  at  Bury,  awaiting  the  awful  moment  of  her 
condemnation.  I  could  not  leave  this  place,  however,  without 
pouring  out  my  heart  to  you,  my  dear  and  honoured  lady  ;  thanking 
you  for  your  great  kindness  and  Christian  charity  to  my  poor 
soul.  I  have  confessed  my  guilt  to  God  and  man,  and  I  go  to  my 
trial  with  the  same  determination  to  plead  guilty  before  both. 

"Honoured  madam,  I  am  told  that  the  judge  will  call  upon  me 
to  know  if  I  have  anybody  in  court  to  speak  to  my  character. 
Now,  though  I  cannot  hope,  and  indeed  would  not  urge  you  to  be 
present  in  court,  considering  the  state  you  are  now  in,'  yet  you 
have  spoken  well  of  me  in  private,  and  I  know  you  would  never 
fear  to  speak  publicly  that  which  you  have  said  of  me  in  private. 
Perhaps  a  line  from  you  would  do  that  which  I  want.  You  wel] 
know,  my  dear  madam,  that  it  13  not  from  any  hope  of  its  obtaining 
a  pardon  for  me  that  I  ask  it ;  but  it  is  from  the  hope  that  one, 
whom  I  shall  never  see  again,  may  by  some  means  catch  a  sight 
of  it ;  and  may  think  better  of  me  than  the  world  at  large,  who 
know  nothing  of  me,  can  do.     Pardon  this  weakness. 

"  Think  not  that  I  have  any  hope  of  mercy  or  pardon  here.     You 

1  The  writer  of  these  pages,  one  of  the  sons  of  that  excellent  woman, 
was  born  on  the  9th  of  September  following. 


HISTORY   OF   MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  233 

have  tangni  me  how  to  hope  for  both  hereafter.  You  have  shown 
me  much  mer:y  and  pity  here,  and  the  Lord  reward  you  and  my 
dear  master  for  your  unmerited  compassion  to  your  wretched  servant ! 
You  have  fortified  my  mind  with  the  riches  of  consolation  in  that 
religion  which  I  hope  will  be  poured  with  tenfold  increase  into 
your  own  heart,  and  give  you  that  peace  you  are  so  anxious  I 
should  possess.  It  grieves  me  to  see  my  fellow-prisoner3  so  unpre- 
pared for  the  fate  which  awaits  them.  Oh,  that  they  had  such 
friends  as  I  have  had  !  Oh,  that  they  had  been  partakers  of  the 
same  consolation  as  myself  !  And  now,  dearest  lady,  I  have  only 
to  request  your  mention  of  me  in  your  prayers.  Bles3  you,  my 
dear  madam  !  God  bless  you  and  your  dear  children,  and  may 
they  live  to  be  a  blessing  to  your  old  age  !  Give  my  kind  thanks 
to  all  those  frien&3  who  may  ever  inquire  about  me.  And  now, 
dearest  lady,  pardon  the  errors  of  this  letter,  as  you  have  done 
all  the  graver  faults  of  your  ever  grateful  and  now  happier  servant, 

"Margaret  Catcitpole. 
"To  Mrs.  Cobbold, 

''St.  Margaret's  Green,  Ipswich." 

Margaret,  with  several  other  prisoners,  departed  for  Bury  assizes 
in  the  prisoners'  van,  which  started  at  six  o'clock  on  the  9th  of 
August,  1797,  under  the  care  of  Air.  Klpshaw,  the  gaoler,  and 
arrived  at  that  place  about  eleven  o'clock  in  the  forenoon. 

The  town  was  in  a  bustle,  and  the  prisoners  were  received  into 
the  borough  gaol  that  day  an  hour  or  so  previously  to  their  trial— 
a  day  of  anxiety  to  many,  but  by  too  many  spent  in  revelry  and 
folly.  The  various  witnesses  crowded  into  the  town.  The  inns 
were  filled  on  the  8th.  Expectation  was  alive  and  active  ;  and  the 
bustle  of  preparing  for  business  created  a  stir  throughout  that 
town,  which  at  other  times  is  the  most  silent,  the  coldest,  and 
the  dullest  place  in  England. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

TRIAL   AND    CONDEMNATION   TO    DEATH. 

There  are  few  things  that  appear  in  greater  and  more  painful 
contrast  than  the  general  rejoicing  which  attends  the  assizes  of  a 
country  town,  and  the  solemn  and  aw  Ful  purposes  for  which  those 


234  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

assizes  are  held.  It  may  be  said,  that  it  is  a  matter  of  rejoicing 
when  justice  is  about  to  be  administered;  and  that  honest  people 
have  a  right  to  be  glad  when  the  wicked  are  about  to  be  punished. 
But  there  is  great  difference  between  a  reasonable  show  of  rejoicing, 
and  the  overflowings  of  pomp  and  parade,  levity  and  folly. 

At  the  assizes  at  Bury,  at  the  time  we  speak  of,  the  sheriff's 
pomp  and  state  was  something  approaching  to  regal  splendour. 
His  gaudy  liveries,  his  gilded  carriage,  his  courtly  dress,  and  all 
the  expenses  attendant  upon  such  a  station,  made  it  a  heavy  burthen 
to  the  unfortunate  country  gentleman  who  should  be  appointed 
to  such  an  office.  The  balls,  too,  and  public  entertainments 
common  at  such  time  in  the  county,  formed  a  striking  contrast  to 
the  sorrows  and  despair  of  the  criminals.  The  judges  entered  the 
town,  the  trumpets  sounded,  the  bells  rang,  the  sheriff's  carriage 
was  surrounded  with  hosts  of  gapers  of  all  kinds,  to  see  their 
lordships  alight  at  the  Angel  steps.  The  Lord  Chief  Baron 
Macdonald  and  Mr.  Justice  Heath  attended  divine  service,  at  St. 
James's  Church,  previously  to  their  entering  the  courts.  Who 
could  look  down  upon  that  assemblage,  and  see  those  grave  men, 
with  their  white  wigs  crowned  with  black  patches,  their  scarlet 
robes,  lined  with  ermine,  preceded  by  the  sheriff's  officers,  and  all 
the  municipal  servants  of  that  ancient  borough,  with  their  gilt 
chains,  silver  maces,  and  ample  robes,  and  not  think  of  the  purpose 
for  which  they  were  assembled  ? 

The  best  preparation  for  the  scenes  met  within  a  court  of  justice,  is 
the  house  of  prayer;  though  even  here  there  is  a  strange  contrast 
between  the  peace  and  quietness  of  the  church,  and  the  bustle, 
broil,  and  turmoil  usually  attendant  on  the  administration  of  criminal 
justice. 

At  twelve  o'clock,  on  the  day  of  trial,  August  9th,  1797,  the  Lord 
Chief  Baron  Macdonald  took  his  seat  upon  the  bench,  in  the  criminal 
court.  Mr.  Justice  Heath  presided  in  the  Nisi  Prius.  On  the 
right  hand  of  the  Lord  Chief  Baron  sat  the  High  Sheriff;  Chalonor 
Archdeckne,  Esq.,  of  Glevering  Hall,  with  his  chaplain,  and  a  full 
bench  of  county  and  borough  magistrates.  After  the  proclamation 
had  been  read,  the  respective  lists  of  the  grand  jury  for  the 
county  and  the  liberty  were  then  called  over,  as  follows  : — 

For  the  County. 

Lord  Viscount  Brome  ;  Sir  John  Blois,  Bart. ;  Philip  Bowes  Broke,  Esq. ; 
Charles  Berners,  jun.,  Esq.  •  George  Golding,  Esq. ;  William  Middleton,  Esq. ; 


THE   HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  235 

Eleazar  Davy,  Esq. ;  John  Frere,  E;q. ;  Matthias  Kerrison,  Esq.  ;  Wulfran 
Lewis,  Esq.;  John  Sheppard,  Esq.;  Francis  Broke,  Esq.;  ilileson  Elgar,  E-q.  ; 
Robert  Trotman,  Esq. ;  John  Bleadon,  Esq. ;  John  Cobbold,  Esq.  ;  Thomas 
Green,  Esq.  ;  Joseph  Burch  Smith,  Esq. ;  Thomas  Shaw,  Esq. ;  John  Vernon, 
Esq.;  James  Reeve,  Esq.  ;  James  Stutter,  Esq. 

For  tiie  Liberty. 
Sir  Charles  Bunbury,  Bart. ;  Sir  Charles  Davers,  Bart.;  Sir  Thomas  Cullum, 
Bart. ;  Sir  Harry  Parker,  Bart. ;  Sir  William  Rowley,  Bart. ;  Nathaniel  Lee 
Acton,  Esq.  ;  Capel  Lofft,  Esq.  ;  Samuel  Briee,  Esq. ;  William  Parker,  Esq.  ; 
Richard  Moore,  Esq. ;  Robert  Walpole,  Esq.  ;  James  Oakes,  Esq.  ;  Matthia3 
Wright,  Esq.  ;  Abraham  Reeve,  Esq.  ;  John  Oliver,  Esq. ;  John  Pytches, 
Esq.;  Thoma3  Cocksedge,  Esq. ;  John  Cooke,  Esq.;  George  Jackson,  Esq.; 
"William  Kemp  Jardine,  Esq. 

After  the  names  had  been  respectively  answered,  the  Lord  Chief 
Baron  addressed  the  grand  jury,  in  a  most  powerful  and  impressive 
speech,  in  which  he  pointed  out  to  their  attention  the  extraordinary 
case  then  about  to  come  on  for  trial.  The  grand  jury  retired. 
The  prisoners  were  led  into  the  cages,  under  the  body  of  the  court, 
where  the  people  sat.  They  could  hear  all  the  proceedings,  and 
could  see,  through  an  iron  grating,  all  the  witnesses  in  attendance. 
After  the  petty  jury  had  been  sworn,  and  had  appointed  John 
Bloomfield,  auctioneer  and  farmer,  their  foreman,  they  took  their 
seats,  and  various  true  bills  were  handed  into  court  against  the 
prisoners,  whose  trials  then  came  on.  After  an  hour  or  two,  a  paper 
was  handed  from  the  grand  jury  box,  to  the  clerk  of  arraigns  ;  it 
was  announced  as  "a  true  bill  against  Margaret  Catchpole,  for 
horse-stealing."  She  presently  after  heard  herself  summoned  by 
name  ;  and  with  trembling  hand  and  foot,  ascended  the  steps  of  the 
dock,  and  stood  before  the  bar.  The  court  was  crowded  to  excess, 
and  upon  the  bench  sat  more  ladies  than  gentlemen.  The  judge 
cast  a  severe  glance  at  the  prisoner,  evidently  expecting  to  find  a 
bold,  athletic  female,  of  a  coarse  and  masculine  appearance.  Mar- 
garet was  dressed  in  a  plain  blue  cotton  gown,  and  appeared  deeply 
dejected.  She  seemed  to  be  inwardly  engaged  in  prayer.  Once  she 
looked  round  the  court,  to  see  if  she  could  discover  the  person  of 
her  lover,  or  the  instigator  to  the  crime  for  which  she  was  arraigned. 
Her  eye  rested  only  upon  her  aged  father  and  her  affectionate 
brother  Edward,  who  stood  beneath  her,  close  to  the  bar.  The 
workings  of  nature  were  too  powerful  to  be  resisted,  and  tears  rolled 
down  the  old  man's  cheeks,  as  he  gave  his  hand  to  his  daughter. 
She  kissed  it3  and  let  fall  upon  it  the  hot  drops  of  agony. 


236  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

"  Prisoner  at  the  bar,  you  stand  committed  upon  your  own  con- 
fession, before  two  of  his  majesty's  justices  of  the  peace  for  the 
county  of  Middlesex,  of  having,  on  the  night  of  the  23rd  of  May 
last  past,  stolen  from  the  stable  of  your  late  master,  John  Cobbold, 
Esq.,  of  St.  Margaret's  Green,  Ipswich,  a  strawberry  roan-grey  coach 
gelding,  and  of  having  rode  the  same  from  Ipswich  to  London  that 
night  ;  and  being  in  the  act  of  selling  the  horse  next  day  following, 
when  you  were  taken  into  custody.  For  this  offence  you  now  stand 
before  the  court.  How  say  you,  prisoner  at  the  bar,  are  you  guilty, 
or  not  guilty  ?  " 

Margaret  looked  at  her  judge,  and  in  a  firm  though  low  voice 
said,  "Guilty,  my  lord." 

"Prisoner  at  the  bar,"  resumed  the  judge,  "though  you  have 
made  this  confession,  you  are  at  liberty  to  retract  it,  and  to  plead 
'  Not  Guilty/  if  you  please,  and  so  to  take  jour  tiial.  Your  plea 
of  '  Guilty '  will  avail  you  nothing  in  the  sentence  which  must 
follow.     Consider  then  your  answer." 

Margaret  replied,  • '  I  am  not  able  now,  my  lord,  to  plead  '  Not 
Guilty.'  " 

"  Why  not?  "  said  the  judge. 

"  Because  I  know  that  I  am  '  Guilty.'  " 

This  was  too  sound  an  argument  to  be  disputed  ;  and  the  judge 
did  not  attempt  any  further  explanation. 

Margaret's  appearance  was  not  remarkable  for  beauty,  nor  was 
it  by  any  means  unpleasing.  Her  figure  was  not  masculine.  She 
was  tall,  and  rather  slender.  She  had  a  dark  eye,  dark  hair,  and 
a  countenance  pale  from  emotion. 

The  judge  then  addressed  her  in  the  following  words  : — 
"  Prisoner  at  the  bar,  it  is  my  painful  duty  to  address  one  of  your 
sex  in  such  a  situation.  I  cannot  possibly  judge  of  your  motives 
for  committing  such  a  crime.  They  do  not  appear  in  your  con- 
fession, and  I  am  at  a  loss  to  conceive  what  can  have  induced  you 
to  commit  it.  The  sentence  to  which  you  have  subjected  yourself 
is  death.  Have  you  anything  to  say  why  this  sentence  of  the  law 
should  not  be  passed  upon  you  ?  Have  you  any  friends  in  court 
to  speak  to  your  character  ? " 

There  was  evidently  a  stir  in  the  body  of  the  court,  and  several 
persons  were  seen  crowding  forward  to  the  witness-box,  and  all 
ready  to  enter  it.  At  this  juncture  the  prisoner  expressed  a 
wish  to  know,  if  she  might  speak  a  few  words  to  the  judge. 


THE   HISTORY    OF   MARGARET    CATCHPOLE  237 

"  Prisoner  at  the  bar,"  said  the  Chief  Baron,  "  I  am  quite  ready 
to  hear  what  you  have  to  say." 

There  was  now  a  hushed  and  breathless  silence  in  the  court, 
and  the  prisoner  spoke  calmly,  clearly,  and  audibly,  in  the  following 
words  : — 

"My  lord,  I  am  not  going  to  say  anything  in  defence  of  my 
conduct,  or  to  make  any  excuse  whatever  for  my  crimes.  I  told 
your  lordship  that  I  was  guilty,  ani  guilty  I  feel  that  I  am.  It  is 
not  for  my  own  sake,  either,  that  I  am  speaking,  but  that  all  in 
this  court  may  take  warning  from  my  bad  example.  A  kinder 
master  and  mistress  no  servant  ever  had,  nor  had  ever  master  or 
mistress  a  more  ungrateful  servant.  I  have  long  since  condemned 
myself,  and  more  severely  than  your  lordship  can  do  it.  I  know 
my  crime,  and  I  know  its  punishment.  I  feel  that,  even  if  the  law 
acquitted  me,  my  own  conscience  would  still  condemn  me.  But 
your  lordship  may  proceed  to  pass  sentence  upon  my  body.  I  have 
already  felt  assurance  of  some  peace  and  mercy  where  I  alone 
could  look  for  it,  and  thanks  b3  to  God  I  have  not  sought  it  in 
vain.  It  has  prepared  me  for  this  moment.  My  master  and 
mistress  have  forgiven  me.  Oh  !  that  all  against  whom  I  have 
offended  by  my  bad  example  could  here  do  the  same  !  I  do  not  ask 
forgiveness  of  the  law,  because  I  have  no  right  to  do  so.  I  hare 
offended,  and  am  subject  to  the  penalty  of  death.  If  your  lordship 
should  even  change  my  sentence  and  send  me  out  of  the  country 
for  life,  I  should  rather  choose  death,  at  this  time,  than  banish- 
ment from  my  father  and  my  friends.  Temptation  would  no 
longer  assail  me,  and  I  shall  hope  to  see  them,  and  all  whom  I 
now  see  before  me,  in  a  better  world.  I  hope  your  lordship 
will  forgive  my  words,  though  you  must  condemn  me  for  my 
actions." 

To  attempt  a  description  of  the  effect  of  these  few  words  upon 
the  court  would  be  impossible.  The  ladies  hoped  that  mercy 
would  be  extended  to  her.  The  judge  looked  at  her  with  mingled 
astonishment  and  pity. 

"  Are  there  any  persons  present,"  said  the  judge,  "who  are 
ready  to  speak  to  the  previous  character  of  the  prisoner  ? "  Where- 
upon the  prosecutor,  her  master,  immediately  ascended  the  witness- 
box.  He  stated  that  the  prisoner  had,  during  the  time  she  lived 
in  his  service,  always  discharged  her  duty  faithfully.  He  had 
reason  to  believe  that  she  was  neither  a  hardened  nor  an  abandoned 


238  THE   HISTORY    OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

character.  lie  knew  from  experience  that  she  was  most  humane 
and  faithful,  and  ready  to  risk  her  own  life  in  the  service  of  another. 
He  here  mentioned  her  presence  of  mind,  and  the  intrepidity  she 
had  so  signally  displayed  in  saving  the  lives  of  his  children.  He 
stated,  moreover,  that,  for  his  own  part,  he  never  should  have 
prosecuted  the  prisoner  but  that  the  magistrates  in  London  had 
bound  him  over  so  to  do,  and  a  sense  of  duty  compelled  him  to 
adopt  this  course.  He  should  always  entertain,  under  all  circum- 
stances, a  grateful  recollection  of  her.  He  particularly  recom- 
mended her  to  mercy,  because  he  did  not  believe  that  she  had 
committed  the  crime  in  question  in  conjunction  with  any  gang  of 
horse-stealcrs,  but  that  she  was  the  dupe  of  an  infamous  villain, 
who  had  persuaded  her  to  steal  the  horse  for  him,  and  for  no 
pecuniary  benefit  to  herself.  He  believed  her  to  be  a  proper 
object  for  royal  clemency,  and  hoped  that  if  his  lordship  could  find 
any  mitigating  circumstances  in  her  favour,  that  he  would  give  her 
the  full  benefit  of  them. 

George  Stebbing,  Esq.,  surgeon,  Ipswich,  stated  that  he  had 
known  the  prisoner  from  her  childhood  ;  that  in  her  earliest  years 
she  gave  promise  of  such  good  character  and  conduct  as  would 
have  merited  the  approbation  of  all  men.  He  mentioned  her  riding 
the  pony  to  Ipswich. 

Margaret  put  her  head  down  upon  the  bar,  and,  hiding  her  face 
in  her  hands,  sobbed  audibly  before  the  whole  court. 

The  doctor  stated  that,  if  she  was  at  that  moment  at  liberty, 
he  would  take  her  into  his  own  house.  He  assured  his  lordship 
that  it  was  a  romantic  hope  of  seeing  her  lover,  that  induced  her 
to  listen  to  the  voice  of  the  tempter  who  induced  her  to  steal  the 
horse.  He  prayed  for  mercy  for  her,  and  handed  a  petition  to  the 
court,  signed  by  many  persons  who  knew  her  early  history,  and 
bore  testimony  to  her  former  good  character. 

Her  Uncle  and  Aunt  Leader  next  spoke  in  the  highest  terms  of 
her  general  good  character.  Her  first  mistress  at  the  Priory  Farm 
gave  her  also  an  excellent  character  for  honesty  and  humanity, 
and  assured  his  lordship  that  it  was  an  early  but  unfortunate 
attachment  which  had  been  the  cause  of  this  rash  act ;  adding,  that 
neither  she  nor  her  husband  would  object  to  take  the  prisoner 
again  into  their  service. 

Several  other  persons  spoke  in  her  favour,  and  so  cordial  and  so 
earnest  had  been  the  testimony  borne  to  her  character,  that  in 


The  history  of  Margaret  Catchpol£.  239 

almost  every  breast  a  hope  began  to  prevail  that  mercy  would  be 
extended  to  her. 

The  judge  took  an  unusually  long  time  for  deliberation.  Ha 
was  in  conversation  with  the  high  sheriff,  but  what  passed  between 
them  did  not  transpire.  The  longer  he  delayed  his  judgment,  the 
stronger  grew  the  hopes  of  mercy.  At  last,  turning  round  to  the 
body  of  the  court,  he  looked  for  one  most  awful  moment  steadfastly 
at  the  prisoner;  and,  when  every  eye  wa3  riveted  upon  him,  he 
was  seen  to  take  the  black  cap  from  beneath  his  desk,  and  to  plact> 
it  upon  his  head.  That  dreadful  forerunner  of  impending  con- 
demnation struck  forcibly  upon  the  hearts  of  all  the  people  assem- 
bled. Some  ladies  fainted,  and  were  carried  out  of  court.  The 
most  perfect  stillness  ensued,  as  the  Lord  Chief  Baron  addressed 
the  unhappy  creature  in  the  following  words  : — 

"  Prisoner  at  the  bar,  I  have  paid  attention  to  your  address  to 
me,  and  to  those  around  you,  and  am  glad  to  find  that  you  have 
made  a  proper  use  of  the  time  which  has  intervened  between  your 
committal  to  prison  and  the  present  moment.  Your  words  show 
that  you  are  by  no  means  ignorant  of  your  duty  as  a  member  of 
society,  and  that  you  are  possessed  of  strong  sense  and  much  good 
feeling.  I  earnestly  wish  that  your  conduct  had  not  been  such 
as  to  belie  that  good  sense  which  you  possess.  It  is,  however,  the 
more  inexcusable  in  one  who,  at  the  time  she  was  committing  an 
offence,  must  have  known  its  heinousness.  Your  sin,  prisoner  at 
the  bar,  has  found  you  out  quickly,  and  judgment  as  speedily 
follows.  I  will  not  aggravate  those  feelings  of  remorse  which  I  am 
sure  you  experience,  by  any  longer  dwelling  upon  the  painful 
situation  in  which  your  crimes  have  placed  you.  I  trust  your 
own  persuasive  words  will  be  long  remembered  by  every  one  present, 
and  be  a  warning  to  all  how  they  suffer  themselves  to  be  betrayed 
into  crime.  May  your  early  fate  warn  them  in  time  to  keep  them- 
selves in  the  path  of  rectitude  and  honesty. 

"  I  must  say  that,  in  the  whole  course  of  my  judicial  career,  I 
have  never  met  with  a  person  who  so  well  knew  right  from  wrong, 
and  who  so  extraordinarily  perverted  that  gift.  I  must  say,  like- 
wise, that  I  have  never  met  with  any  one  who  has  received  so  good 
a  former  character  at  such  a  moment  as  the  present.  The  re- 
presentations that  have  been  made  of  your  past  conduct  shall  be 
forwarded  to  the  king,  with  whom  alone  the  prerogative  of  mercy 
in  your  case  exists. 


240  THE  HISTORY   OF  MARGARET   CATCtiPOi.fi, 

'  "It  would  be  cruelty,  however,  in  me  did  I  not  candidly  tell 
you,  that  the  crime  for  which  you  are  now  to  suffer  is  one  of  such 
frequent,  bold,  and,  in  this  day,  daring  commission,  as  to  defy  the 
authority  of  the  law ;  so  that  persons  detected  and  brought  to 
judgment,  as  you  are,  stand  but  little  chance  of  mercy.  It  is  not 
in  my  power  to  give  you  any  hope  of  escaping  the  full  punishment 
of  the  law,  but  I  will  represent  your  case  this  very  night,  before  I 
sleep,  to  the  proper  quarter  whence  any  alteration  in  your  behalf 
can  alone  be  obtained. 

"  I  need  scarcely  tell  you  not  to  rely  upon  any  false  hopes  which 
friends  may  hold  out  to  you,  who  would  grieve  the  more  could 
they  see  the  danger  and  distress  which  they  thereby  occasion.  Let 
me  rather  entreat  you  to  continue  that  attention  to  the  interest 
of  your  soul  which  has  already  been  well  instructed  and  fortified 
against  the  present  crisis.  You  have  to  prepare,  prisoner  at  the 
bar,  for  a  greater  trial,  a  more  awful  moment ;  and  I  hope  you 
will  make  good  use  of  the  short  time  which  remains  in  preparation 
for  eternity.  You  appear  to  have  been  well  assisted  hitherto,  and 
the  good  instruction  seems  to  have  fallen  upon  productive  ground 
I  hope  the  increase  will  continue  to  the  day  of  your  death. 

"It  only  remains  for  me  to  fulfil  my  duty,  by  passing  the 
sentence  of  the  court  upon  you,  which  is — 

"  That  you  be  taken  from  the  place  where  you  now  stand,  back 
to  the  place  whence  you  came,  and  thence  to  the  place  of  execution, 
and  there  be  hanged  by  the  neck  until  you  be  dead  ;  and  may  God 
have  mercy  upon  your  soul  !  " 

At  these  last  words  tears  of  agony  overwhelmed  many  in  the 
court ;  but  Margaret  herself  seemed  to  be  less  overcome  by  the 
sentence  than  by  the  kind  words  of  the  judge. 

She  respectfully  curtsyed  to  him  and  the  court,  and,  in  the  act 
of  retiring,  fell  into  her  father's  arms.  She  Was  conveyed  back  to 
the  gaol  in  a  swToan. 

In  the  meantime  every  exertion  was  made  to  represent  her  case 
favourably  to  the  judge.  A  petition  was  signed  by  many  of  the 
grand  jury,  as  well  as  the  petty  jury,  in  her  behalf,  and  strong 
hopes  were  entertained  of  a  reprieve. 

These  things  were  not  mentioned  to  the  prisoner,  who  returned 
to  the  cell  of  condemned  felons,  to  employ  her  time  in  "seeking 
that  peace  which  the  world  cannot  give." 

A  keeper  constantly  attended  her,  and  a  temale  sat  up  with  her 


THE   HISTORY    OF   MARGARET   CATCIIPOLE.  24I 

all  that  n'glit.  She  requested  to  have  a  Bible,  and  pen,  ink,  and 
paper  :  these  were  granted  her.  She  did  not  sleep,  but  read  the 
Sacred  Book,  sometimes  aloud,  sometimes  to  herself.  She  also 
seemed  to  find  great  relief  in  writing  to  her  friends.  One  letter 
which  she  wrote  to  her  uncle,  and  another  to  her  mistress,  on  that 
very  night,  will  best  evince  the  state  of  her  mind  and  feelings. 

"My  deab,  Uncle, — This  will  reach  you  to-morrow  before  you 
leave  Bury.  Give  my  love  and  best  thanks  to  my  aunt  and  friends 
who  spoke  this  day  in  behalf  of  your  unhappy  niece  ;  but,  when 
you  arrive  at  Ipswich,  be  sure  and  call  and  thank  that  dear  old 
gentleman,  Doctor  Stebbing.  I  know  he  feels  very  much  for  me, 
but  tell  him  not  to  distress  himself,  as  if  I  were  to  be  lost  for 
ever.  Tell  him  I  hope  to  see  him  in  a  better  world.  He  has  been 
very  kind  to  me  in  those  days  when  I  was  most  forlorn,  and  my 
Saviour,  "Who  then  guided  me  to  him,  will  give  him  his  reward. 
For  He  says,  that  a  cup  of  cold  water  given  to  one  of  His  most 
poor  and  wretched  children,  shall  not  be  forgotten. 

' '  Dear  uncle,  show  this  letter  to  the  gentleman  in  whose  hands 
you  have  placed  the  money  which  I  gave  you  for  such  purpose, 
and  tell  him  that  I  wish  it  to  be  restored  to  William  Laud,  its 
rightful  owner,  if  he  can  be  found,  and  will  receive  it  again.  If  he 
is  not  found,  after  my  dsath,  within  the  space  of  one  year,  I  wish 
it  to  be  divided  into  four  ecpual  portions  :  one  for  my  father,  one 
for  my  brother  Edward,  one  for  yourself,  and  one  for  my  aunt. 

"Do  not  mourn  for  m?,  dear  uncle,  for  I  sincerely  believe  in 
God's  forgiveness  of  my  past  sins,  through  the  merits  of  Jesus 
Christ,  my  Saviour.  My  prayer  to  God  is,  'Increase  my  faith,  O 
Lord  !  and  pardon  me,  a3  Thou  didst  the  malefactor  upon  the 
cross  ; '  for  I  feel,  dear  uncle,  as  if  I  was  justly  in  that  thief's 
condemnation.  I  hope  soon,  very  soon,  to  be  in  a  better  state, 
and  in  a  happier  world.  I  wish  you  and  my  aunt  to  come  to 
Ipswich  and  see  me  once  more  before  I  suffer.  Tell  my  aunt  I  wish 
her  to  purchase  something  decent  for  my  funeral.  She  will  find 
some  money  in  the  corner  of  my  box,  under  the  linen.  Oh  !  how 
little  did  he,  who  gave  me  that  money,  and  who  so  worthily  esteemed 
me,  how  little  did  he  think  that  any  portion  of  it  would  be  devoted 
to  such  a  purpose  !  My  dear  uncle,  go  and  comfort  my  poor 
father,  and  my  good  young  brother  :  I  will  write  to  them  before 
another  day  is  past.     1  wish  my  bones  to  lie  beside  my  mother's 


242  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARCAR.ET  CATCHPOLE. 

and  sister's  in  Nacton  churchyard.  I  am  told  that  on  Saturday 
week  I  shall  probably  suffer  death.  God  grant  I  may  then  be 
prepared  ! 

"We  shall  all  return  to  Ipswich  as  soon  as  the  nine  prisoners, 
whom  Mr.  Ripshaw  brought  to  Bury,  shall  have  been  tried.  Pray 
for  me,  dear  uncle !  Warn  the  dear  children  by  my  fate.  I  should 
like  to  see  them  myself.  I  wish  I  could  impress  upon  their  young 
minds  the  dreadful  feelings  of  guilt  which  I  have  endured,  and  so 
prevent  their  commission  of  any  crime.  I  am  going  to  write  now 
to  my  dear  mistress,  and,  as  you  return  to-morrow,  you  must  take 
that  letter  and  deliver  it.  God  bless  you,  dear  uncle  !  God's  peace 
be  with  you  !     So  no  more  from  your  poor  affectionate  niece, 

"  Margaret  CATcnroLE. 
"Bury  Gaol,  Aujust  9th,  1797. 

"  To  Mr.  Leader, 

i 
"Six  Bells  Inn,  Bury." 

"  To  Mrs.  Cobbold. 

"  Honoured  Madam, — My  trial  is  over,  and  I  dare  say  my  dear 
master  has  already  told  you  the  fate  of  your  unhappy  servant.  He 
cannot,  however,  tell  you  what  I  can,  and  what  will  better  please 
your  good  heart  than  the  account  of  my  trial,  namely,  that  I  am 
not  so  disconsolate  as  many  persons  may  think  I  am.  No  ;  God 
be  praised,  and  thanks  to  those  dear  friends  who  visited  me  in  the 
Ipswich  gaol ;  and  chiefly  thanks  to  you,  among  them,  my  dear 
lady  ;  my  heart  is  consoled  with  the  prospect  of  soon  seeing  better 
things  than  this  wicked  world  can  show  me.  Oh  !  my  dear  lady,  I 
hope  to  see  you  among  those  bright  shining  spirits  who  live  for  ever 
in  harmony  and  love.  Oh !  how  happy  shall  we  then  be,  free  from 
fear  of  pain  or  grief  !  I  have  just  been  reading  that  beautiful 
passage,  where  it  is  written,  '  God  shall  wipe  all  tears  from  their 
eyes,  and  there  shall  be  no  more  death,  neither  sorrow  nor  crying  ; 
neither  shall  there  be  any  more  pain.'  Oh  !  what  a  different  world 
must  that  be  to  this  ;  and  what  should  make  us  grieve  to  leave  this 
world  ?  It  is  only  the  fear  of  future  wrath  that  can  prevent  our 
joyfully  looking  up  to  heaven  through  the  valley  of  death.  And, 
dearest  lady,  if  such  a  wretched  being  as  I  am  can  hope  in  that 
Saviour  Who  died  for  me  and  all  the  world,  surely,  you,  dear  lady, 
must  have  a  bright,  a  pleasant  prospect,  before  you.  Heaven  bless 
you,  for  all  your  goodness  to  me  in  the  days  of  my  prosperity,  but 


THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  243 

more  for  your  Christian  charity  in  the  day  of  my  adversity  !  The 
judge,  who  really,  I  think,  reminded  me  of  you,  told  me  I  had  been 
well  instructed ;  I  wish  he  knew  you,  dear  madam,  and  he  would 
then  be  assured  of  it.  Thank  my  kind  master  for  Ins  goodness  to 
his  unworthy  servant.  I  had  no  hope  of  mercy  from  the  first,  and 
the  judge  told  me  not  to  trust  in  any  such  idea  in  this  world.  He 
spoke  much  less  severely  than  I  expected  ;  but  I  was  prepared  for 
his  condemnation,  and  I  am  now  preparing  my  mind  for  the  day  of 
execution.  I  find  great  comfort  in  the  Scriptures,  because  I  have 
no  secret  pangs  of  unconfessed  guilt,  or  any  wish  in  my  heart  to' 
cover  or  palliate  my  offences.  My  trial  is  over,  and  the  same  God 
Who  sustained  me  through  it,  will,  I  hope,  preserve  my  spirit  faith- 
ful to  the  last.  Every  moment  seems  valuable  to  me,  dear  lady, 
now  that  I  know  them  to  be  so  soon  numbered  ;  and  I  scarcely 
like  to  lose  one  even  in  sleep.  Nature,  however,  is  weary  with 
fatigue  and  anxiety,  though  my  spirit  seems  so  wakeful.  If  I  go 
to  sleep,  it  will  be  in  prayer  for  you  and  all  my  friends.  That  God 
may  bless  you  and  all  your  dear  family,  is  the  heartfelt  desire  of 
your  unfortunate,  though  ever  grateful  servant, 

11  Margaret  Catchpole. 
"  Bury  Gaol,  August  Oth,  1797. 

"  P.S.—  My  good  Uncle  Leader  will  bring  this,  of  whom  you  can 
ask  any  particulars,  as  he  was  in  court  during  my  trial.'' 

On  the  11th  of  August,  a  letter  arrived  from  the  Home  Office, 
in  London,  giving  full  powers  to  the  judge  to  exercise  the  preroga- 
tive of  mercy  in  her  case,  as  he  might  see  fit.  The  judge  wa3  not 
in  court  at  the  time,  but  in  his  own  rooms.  He  sent  immediately 
for  the  sheriff  and  the  prosecutor,  Mr.  Cobbold,  and  explained 
to  them  the  purport  of  the  letter  he  had  received.  He  thought, 
however,  that  some  punishment  should  mark  the  sense  of  crime. 
He  therefore  commuted  the  sentence  of  death  for  the  shortest 
period  of  transportation  for  seven  years  ;  and  he  signed  the  neces- ( 
sary  document  for  such  purpose.  He  intimated  that  that  period 
nr'ght  be  shortened  by  the  good  conduct  of  the  prisoner  in  gaol  ; 
for  as  there  was  great  difficulty  now  in  sending  prisoners  to  the 
new  settlement,  her  portion  of  confinement  would  most  likely  be 
spent  in  the  Ipswich  Gaol.  The  judge  added,  that  the  woman 
appeared  to  be  a  most  sensible  creature  ;  and  he  made  many 
most  minute  inquiries  concerning  her  education  and  habits.     He 

16 


244  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARCARET   CATCHPOLE. 

said  that  she  had  conducted  herself  during  her  trial  in  a  very 
becoming  manner,  and  he  hoped  that  her  punishment  would  end 
with  half  the  term  of  confinement.  This  would  depend  upon  the 
representations  of  the  visiting  magistrates. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE    REPRIEVE   AND   REMOVAL. 


The  feelings  of  Margaret  Catchpole  under  the  new  circumstances 
which  now  awaited  her,  will  be  best  explained  by  a  letter  written 
by  her  to  Mrs.  Cobbold  immediately  after  the  communication  of 
the  happy  tidings,  and  her  consequent  removal  to  Ipswich  Gaol. 

"Irswicn  Gaol,  Sunday  Evening, 

"August  13/A,  1797. 

"Honoured  Madam,— You  have  heard  of  your  poor  servant's 
reprieve.  I  had  no  time  to  write  you  word  yesterday,  because 
of  the  bustle  of  our  return,  and  the  general  congratulations  of 
the  prisoners.  Mr.  Itipshaw  has  permitted  me  to  have  pen,  ink,  and 
paper,  this  evening,  and  I  hasten  to  write  my  heart.  Good  Mr. 
Sharp  has  been  warning  me  against  too  great  exultation  in  my 
change,  and  very  kindly  says  to  me  in  words  of  truth :  '  Sin  no 
more,  lest  a  worse  thing  come  upon  thee.'  This  was  his  subject  in 
the  chapel  to-day.  I  certainly  do,  even  now,  feel  very  different  to 
what  I  did  when  I  wrote  to  you  last,  dear  lady,  from  Bury.  I 
had  then  made  up  my  mind  to  die,  and  hoped  to  live  for  ever.  I 
now  make  up  my  mind  to  live  ;  but  I  hope  not  to  die  for  ever. 
No,  dear  lady  ;  if  I  thought  that  life  being  granted  to  me  now 
was  only  to  make  my  future  dangers  greater,  I  should  grieve  that 
I  did  not  rather  suffer  before  this  time. 

"Life  is  sweet  and  to  be  desired,  whilst  the  hope  of  becoming 
good,  and  doing  good  in  our  time,  exists.  God  grant  that  such 
hope  may  be  realised  in  my  life  !  Oh  !  my  dear  lady,  if  by  living 
I  could  only  imitate  you  more  nearly,  I  should  then  be  full 
of  hope.  I  feel,  however,  that  temptation  will  assail  me,  wben 
I  leave  this  place  and  enter  again  into  the  world.  Here  I  am 
well  taught  and  well  guarded  against  many  temptations.     I  have 


THE    HISTORY    OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  245 

many  dear  friends  too,  who  take  such  an  interest  in  me,  that  I  am 
afraid  of  being  vain,  though  God  has  shown  me  I  have  indeed 
nothing  to  he  vain  of,  except  it  be  of  such  as  you,  dear  lady, 
who  take  notice  of  such  a  creature  as  myself. 

"  Oh  !  what  a  happy  Sabbath-day  has  this  been  to  me !  I  am  so 
thankful,  that  my  heart  can  sing  psalms  all  the  day  long.  I  am 
very  giatef  ul  for  this  paper  and  pen,  that  I  may  be  able  to  speak 
to  you,  my  dear  madam,  in  this  way.  You  taught  me  to  read  and 
write,  and  these  are  my  great  recreations.  Pray  lend  me  some 
good  books  to  read,  and  if  you  would  let  me  see  some  of  your  own 
dear  writing,  it  would  be  a  great  blessing  to  me. 

"  I  have  now  seven  years'  confinement  to  look  forward  to.  Oh  ! 
that  I  may  greatly  improve  my  time  !  Beneath  your  help,  what 
may  I  not  gain  in  my  prison  !  It  may  be  some  weeks  before  I 
see  your  dear,  loved  face,  as  I  hear  that  you  are  very  near  increasing 
your  famil}'.  I  would  not  have  you  come  into  this  place  at  such 
a  time  on  any  account.  But,  as  I  am  so  near  you,  a  word  or  a 
message,  just  to  let  me  know  that  you,  my  master,  and  family  are 
well,  would  lighten  my  burden. 

"  Mr.  Ripshaw  has  promised  that  I  shall  have  plenty  of  employ- 
ment. Work  of  any  sort,  you  know,  dear  lady,  is  always  agreeable 
to  me.  To  be  doing  nothing  is  death  to  me.  He  tells  me,  more- 
over, that  if  I  conduct  myself  well,  he  will  not  fail  to  represent 
my  case  to  the  magistrates  for  a  shortening  of  the  period  of  my 
captivity.  I  received  some  hint  of  this  from  the  chaplains  at  Bury. 
You  may  be  sure,  dear  lady,  that  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  serve  Mr. 
Ripshaw,  and  to  merit  the  recommendation  of  the  magistrates.  I 
hope  your  dear  children  are  well.  I  never  was  so  happy  as  when 
nursing  Master  Roland  ;  I  hope  I  shall  see  him  soon  again. 

"  Pray,   dear  madam,   give  my  duty  to  my  master  and  to   the 

young  ladies  and  gentlemen  ;  and  accept  the  same  from  your  ever 

grateful  servant. 

"  Margaret  Catchpole.*' 

Margaret  was  true  to  her  good  intentions.  She  became  very 
industrious  and  trustworthy  in  the  service  of  Mrs.  Ripshaw,  the 
governor's  wife  ;  and  made  herself  useful  in  every  possible  way  to 
her  new  mistress.  In  fact,  she  became  an  invaluable  person  in  the 
gaol.  She  exercised  a  moral  influence  over  those  of  her  own  sex 
who  were  inmates  of  the  pri:on,  such  as  no  matron  could  hope  to 
attain. 


246  THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

Her  father  and  brother  often  came  to  see  her,  and  occasionally 
they  brought  her  a  luxury  which  reminded  her  of  the  days  of 
liberty — "  a  harvest  cake." 

The  reader  will  not  be  surprised  to  learn  that  Margaret  still, 
sometimes,  asked  after  Will  Laud.  Her  brother  could  give  her 
but  an  indifferent  account  of  what  he  heard  of  him  ;  one  question, 
however,  of  most  vital  import  to  the  still  lingering  hopes  of  poor 
Margaret,  namely — "  Is  he  single  still  ?  "  he  could  answer  in  the 
affirmative.  As  a  set-off  against  this,  she  learned  that  he  was  still 
deeply  engaged  in  smuggling  transactions. 

In  the  winter  of  1797,  Margaret  lost  her  father,  who  was  taken 
off  by  a  bad  fever,  which  at  that  time  raged  fiercely  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood. 

The  following  letter  to  her  brother  Edward  speaks  her  feelings  on 
this  event  :— 

"Ipswich  Gaol, 

"December  2lst,  1797. 
"  Dear  Edward,— My  sins  appear  to  me  doubly  great,  because 
they  have  prevented  my  fulfilling  my  duties  to  my  dear  father  in 
his  illness.  They  oppress  me,  because,  but  for  them,  I  should  have 
found  such  comfort  in  being  able  to  wait  upon  him.  Oh  that  I 
had  wings  to  fly  from  this  place  to  Nacton  !  if  only  for  once  to  be 
present  at  the  last  duties  we  can  any  of  us  pay  to  those  whom  we 
love.  But  I  cannot  come,  so  I  send  you  this  letter.  My  tears 
fall  upon  it,  whilst  I  write  it.  He  was  such  a  dear  good  old  man 
to  us  all.  Can  I  ever  forget  him?  Never!  You  and  he  both 
stood  near  me  upon  my  trial. 

"  Ah  !  Edward,  I  do  think  my  ill-conduct  has  killed  him.  He 
was  always  so  fond  of  me,  that  I  think  he  has  never  recovered 
the  shock  of  that  day.  Yet  he  seemed  well  and  rejoiced  to  see 
me,  with  the  hope  of  happier  and  brighter  times.  But  he  is  gone, 
and  all  our  grief,  dear  brother,  will  be  useless.  If  we  continue  to 
walk  in  the  right  path,  we  shall  meet  him  hereafter.  We  shall  go 
to  him  ;  he  cannot  come  to  us.  Yet  I  wish  I  could  join  you  in 
the  churchyard  ;  but  I  may  not  leave  the  prison  for  one  moment. 
It  is  an  indulgence  no  prisoner  is  allowed.  Mr.  Ripshaw  has 
promised  me  that  I  shall  have  the  afternoon  of  to-morrow  to 
myself,  which  I  shall  employ  in  reading,  and  thinking  about  the 
burial  service. 


THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE*  247 

II  Dear  old  man  !  he  promised  to  spend  Christmas-day  with  me 
in  my  cell.  He  is  in  a  happier  place,  where  joy  and  peace  will 
make  every  day  his  Christmas.  I  shall  think  of  you  to-morrow  at 
two  o'clock.  Do  you  remember,  Edward,  the  evening  of  our 
mother's  funeral  ?  Do  you  remember  the  stranger's  visit,  and  that 
stranger  our  brother  Charles  ?  This  melancholy  time  reminds  me 
of  him.  You  will  have  a  dreary  home  now.  Oh  that  I  had  power 
to  make  it  happier  ! 

II I  am  glad  the  Cracknells  are  still  near  you,  and  that  they  are 
kind  to  you  ;  though  their  misfortunes  and  mine  have  kept  pace 
with  each  other.  Never  mind,  Edward,  what  cruel  people  say  to 
you  about  their  prophecies  concerning  my  downfall.  They  only 
tell  you  these  things  to  aggravate  you.  The  time  may  come  when 
they  will  impudently  say  they  prophesied  my  rise  and  progress  iu 
the  world.     I  hope  better  days  are  coming. 

"  You  must  come  and  see  me  as  soon  as  you  can  ;  for  I  feel 
at  this  time  very  low  and  sorrowful.  So,  my  dear  brother,  do  come 
and  see  me,  when  you  are  able  to  spare  the  time.  Pray  for  me, 
and  I  will  not  cease  to  do  so  for  you.  My  dear  mistress  has 
promised  to  send  this  by  an  especial  messenger.  How  kind  of  her 
to  think  of  one  so  unworthy  as  your  affectionate  sister, 

"  Margaret  Catchpole." 

In  the  spring  of  1798,  Edward  Catchpole,  finding  the  ncJoriety 
his  sister  had  obtained  occasioned  him  much  annoyance,  left  the 
neighbourhood  of  Ipswich,  and  went  into  Cambridgeshire,  where 
he  obtained  a  situation  as  shepherd,  and  was  always  a  respect- 
able character.  Poor  Margaret  felt  this  loss  keenly,  though  a 
letter  from  him  now  and   then  cheered   her   spirits.*     Her  kind 

*  All  traces  of  Echvard  Catchpole  having  been  lost,  the  author  is  indebted 
to  Henry  T.  Bourne,  Esq.,  of  Alford,  in  Lincolnshire,  for  making  known 
to  him,  since  the  publication  of  the  work,  the  circumstances  which  are  here 
briefly  narrated. 

Edward  Catchpole  went  into  Lincolnshire,  and  resided  some  time  at  Sutton- 
in-the-Marsh.  He  was  alwaj's  fond  of  the  sea,  and  for  some  years  became 
mate  of  the  Argus  revenue  cutter.  In  this  vessel,  he  was  present  at  the 
rescue  of  an  English  coal  brig,  from  the  Star,  French  privateer  ;  and  having 
put  men  on  board  the  brig,  sufficient  to  carry  her  into  port,  he  pursued  the 
privateer,  brought  her  to  close  quarters,  and  having  enly  twenty-seven  men 
on  board  the  cutter,  he  was  overpowered,  and  at  ten  o'clock  at  night  com- 
pelled to  surrender,  as  the  privateer  had  eighty-six  men  against  hinu 


24S  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

friends  in  Ipswich  made  her  many  little  presents,  which  she  trea- 
sured up  against  the  time  she  should  go  out.  She  hoped  it  might 
be  in  three  years.  Inquiries  were  frequently  made  concerning 
her  conduct,  which  was  uniformly  orderly  and  good.  She  was  the 
most  useful  person  that  Mrs.  Ripshaw  ever  had  in  the  prison. 

Margaret  never  made  use  of  one  single  shilling  of  that  money 
which  Laud  had  thrown  down  for  her.  She  always  thought  that 
the  time  would  come  when  it  might  be  claimed  ;  and  looked  upon 
it  as  a  sort  of  confidential  deposit,  for  which  she  was  answerable. 
No  individual  could  have  acted  with  more  scrupulous  and  faithful 
regard. 

Time  swept  on,  and  Margaret  had  spent  two  years  of  good  con- 
duct in  the  Ipswich  gaol.  The  magistrates  had  told  Mr.  Ripshaw 
they  should  recommend  her  at  the  Midsummer  assizes,  when  she 
was  mentioned  in  high  terms  to  the  Lord  Chief  Baron.  Cut  the 
crime  of  horse-stealing  still  continued,  day  by  day,  to  be  a  growing 

This  was  on  the  18th  September,  1807.  He  was  made  prisoner,  and  having 
spent  seven  years  in  confinement,  he  made  his  escape,  and  reached  home  in 
safety. 

He  was  afterwards  appointed  chief  officer  of  the  coast-guard,  at  Sutton-in- 
the-Marsh,  in  the  county  of  Lincoln.  Though  a  very  brave  man,  and  a 
steady  officer,  he  did  not  appear  to  hare  any  very  serious  notions  of  religion, 
until  he  was  compelled  by  a  serious  wound  to  keep  at  home.  It  was  lha 
blessing  of  God  to  him,  and  others,  that  this  accident  happened  to  him,  for 
his  mind  appears  to  have  been  awakened  to  a  deep  sense  of  his  past  sins, 
and  his  soul  very  much  aroused  to  inquiry,  by  the  kindness  of  an  excellent 
neighbour,  who  dressed  his  wounds  for  him,  and  did  her  best  endeavours  to 
pour  in  consolation  upon  his  broken  heart. 

He  became  sensible  of  his  need  of  a  Saviour  ;  and  never  after  forsook 
the  help  he  found  in  his  necessity,  but  became  useful  and  exemplar}-,  and 
even  the  means,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  of  saving  others  of  his  comrades 
and  companions.  He  died  on  the  17th  of  December,  183G,  after  affording  to 
all  around  him,  a  Christian  example  of  patience  under  suffering  affliction. 

He  was  interred  in  the  churchyard  at  Sutton,  and  a  stone  at  the  head  of 
his  grave  contains  the  following  inscription  : — 

IN   MEMORY   OP 

EDWARD   CATCH  POLE, 

A     NATIVE     OF     IPSWICH, 

IX   THE  COUNTY   OF  SUFFOLK, 

ASD   LATE   CHIEF  OFFICER   OF   THE 

COAST-GUARD 

STATIONED  AT  THIS   TLACE, 

■WHO   DIED  DECEMBER  THE   17TH,    18CG, 

AGED   58   YEARS. 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCIirOLE.  2^9 

evil  ;  and,  as  if  Margaret  was  made  to  feel  the  consequence  of 
others'  crimes,  no  mitigation  of  her  sentence  was  yet  granted.  It 
had  been  injudiciously  told  her  by  some  friend,  who,  no  doubt, 
meant  it  kindly,  that  an  application  had  been  made  to  the  judge 
for  the  shortening  of  the  period  of  her  imprisonment.  This  made 
her  feel  very  anxious  ;  and  it  proved  a  great  disappointment  to 
her  when  she  found  that  the  interest  made  in  her  behalf  was 
ineffectual.  Her  mind  was  unhinged,  and  her  spirit  grew  restless, 
anxious,  and  oppressed.  Tier  mistress  observed  these  symptoms 
with  concern,  and  dreaded  a  return  of  that  irritability  which  had 
formerly  rendered  her  so  miserable. 

But  where  was  William  Laud  ?  At  his  old  trade,  lie  was  deeply 
concerned  in  that  affair  at  Dunwieh,  where  William  Woodward 
and  Benjamin  Lawscy,  two  boatmen  belonging  to  His  Majestys 
Customs  at  South  wold,  were  beaten  and  thrown  into  the  sea  ; 
and  the  Government  offered  one  hundred  pounds  reward  for  the 
apprehension  of  any  one  of  the  offenders.  Forty  empty  carts  were 
seen  by  these  two  men,  standing  ready  for  a  run,  with  horses  and 
men  in  a  lane  at  Dunwieh.  The  reward  was  offered  in  the  county 
newspapers  of  the  date  of  March  2nd,  1709. 

Sach  a  system  of  open  fraud  was  carried  on  along  the  whole 
coast  of  Norfolk  and  Suffolk  about  this  time,  that  the  revenue  of 
the  kingdom  began  to  suffer  severely  in  the  customs.  In  the 
month  of  March  of  the  second  year  of  her  imprisonment,  Mr.  Gooch, 
officer  oe  excise  at  Lowestoft,  and  Mr.  Burdell,  of  Aldborough, 
seized  880  gallons  of  gin,  belonging  to  Will  Laud  and  his  company  ; 
a.:d  the  evidence  brought  the  affair  so  clearly  home  to  him  that  he 
was  taken  up  and  sentenced  to  be  imprisoned  one  year  in  the  Ips- 
wich gaol,  and  to  pay  a  fine  of  one  hundred  pounds  to  the  king. 
His  property  was  seized  and  confiscated;  smuggled  goods  were 
found  upon  his  premises,  and  he  became  a  penniless  bankrupt,  and 
an  inmate  of  that  very  prison  where  the  devoted  Margaret  was 
suffering  on  his  account. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

THE    ESCATE. 

Margaret  had  not  heard  of  the  capture  of  Laud  ;  and  he.  even 
in  his  then  degraded  condition,  looked  upon  it  as  a  thing  not  to  be 


2jO  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

desired  that  she  should  hear  of.  She  had  been  engaged  in  washing 
for  Mrs.  Ripshaw.  At  that  time  the  large  linen -horses  belonging 
to  the  gaol  stood  in  the  passage  between  the  debtors'  and  felons' 
yards.  Margaret  had  occasion  to  remove  those  horses  into  the 
drying-ground.  For  this  purpose  she  had  to  pass  through  the 
governor's  apartment  into  the  thoroughfare  between  these  two 
yards.  A  strong  palisade  of  oak,  with  sharp  tenter-hooks  on  their 
tops,  stood  on  each  side  of  this  stone  passage,  leading  from  the 
turnkey's  lodge  to  the  governor's  rooms  at  the  centre  of  the  prison. 

'  As  Margaret  was  in  the  act  of  removing  one  of  these  horses,  she 
saw  a  sailor  standing  by  the  wall  on  the  debtors'  side.  A  sailo/ 
in  prison  would  interest  her  at  any  time  ;  but  this  sailor  looked 
so  very  like  Will  Laud  that  she  stood  still  with  astonishment.  lie 
evidently  saw  her,  and  as  he  approached  toward  the  place  where 
she  stood,  her  heart  was  convulsively  beating,  and  a  tremor  came 
over  her  limbs.  He  came  nearer  :  it  was  Laud.  She  saw  him 
again  after  a  lapse  of  years  ;  him  whom  her  earliest  and  warmest 
feelings  had  acknowledged  as  her  lover.  She  had  never  in  her 
heart  deserted  him  for  an  hour ;  yet  he  had  hardly  ever  been 
constant  to  anything.  He  approached,  however,  and  Margaret, 
pretending  to  be  engaged  in  removing  the  linen-horses,  felt  her 
hands  and  feet  tremble  exceedingly.  She  heard  the  well-known 
voice,  which  sounded  like  music  in  her  ears,  say,  "Margaret,  is 
that  you  ? — How  are  you,  Peggy  ?  "  She  tried  all  she  could  to 
summon  courage  to  speak,  but  her  heart  was  so  full,  her  breast 
heaved  so  rapidly,  that  she  could  not  utter  a  word  :  tears  stood 
in  her  eyes,  and  she  tried  to  smile  through  them,  but,  in  the  act 
of  lifting  one  of  those  great  horses  off  the  pegs,  her  hands  and 
knees  could  not  support  the  weight,  but  down  fell  the  horse  upon 

*  her,  and  cast  her,  with  considerable  force  and  clatter  upon  the 
stone- flag  pavement. 

The  noise  of  the  fall  brought  out  the  governor  and  the  turnkey 
at  the  same  moment,  who,  both  concluding  that  the  weight  had 
overpowered  her,  ran  to  her  assistance,  whilst  the  sailor,  well 
knowing  he  could  be  of  no  use,  walked  quietly  away.  No  one  in 
the  gaol  knew  that  he  was  Margaret's  lover.  She  was  carried 
into  the  governor's  house.  The  turnkey  said  he  had  often  removed 
the  horses,  considering  they  were  too  heavy  for  a  female  to  lift, 
though  they  were  frequently  carried  by  them.  Margaret  told  Mr. 
Ripshaw  that   the  over-exertion  had   for  a   moment   produced   a 


THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  25 1 

dizziness  in  her  bead,  and  a  sudden  faintness  came  upon  her  before 
Bhe  fell.  She  dreaded,  however,  lest  any  one  should  imagine  the 
real  cause  of  her  accident.  Her  friend,  the  surgeon  of  the  gaol, 
Mr.  George  Stebbing,  was  sent  for  ;  and  when  he  s:,w  her  he 
bled  her,  considering  that  she  had  received  some  internal  injury. 
It  was  a  good  thing  be  did  so,  for  it  reduced  her  to  such  real 
weakness  as  confined  her  some  days  to  her  bed,  and  afforded  time 
for  reflection. 

Mrs.  Eipshaw  had  promised  Mrs.  Cobbold,  that  if  Margaret 
should  be  ill  at  any  time  she  would  let  her  know  it.  and  she 
now  fulfilled  that  promise.  She  sent  her  a  note  to  tell  her  how 
the  accident  occurred,  and  how  she  was.  Mrs.  Cobbold  came 
immediately,  and  found  her  in  an  unaccountable  state  of  agitation. 
She  at  once  asked  Margaret  if  anything  particular  had  occurred, 
but  she  elicited  nothing  satisfactory. 

No  one  in  the  gaol  except  Margaret  knew  Will  Laud,  and  no  one 
took  any  particular  notice  of  him  but  her.  A  letter,  which  was 
afterwards  found  upon  his  person,  shows  how  truly  that  poor  girl 
had  loved  so  unworthy  a  man.  Opportunities  of  occasional  words 
were  at  different  times  offered  and  seized  upon  by  them,  though 
these  were  few  and  far  between.  By  these,  however,  Margaret 
learned  that  he  was  a  ruined  man,  sentenced  to  a  year's  imprison- 
ment, and  to  pay  a  fine  of  one  hundred  pounds  to  the  king  ;  that 
in  all  probability  his  confinement  might  be  for  years,  as  everything 
he  possessed  had  been  confiscated  ;  his  boats,  ships,  and  stock,  had 
been  seized  ;  and  yet  imprisonment  was  to  continue  till  the  penalty 

was  paid. 

The  letter  which  Margaret  wrote  to  him  about  this  period,  and 
contrived  to  give  into  his  hands,  showed  how  deeply  she  entered 
into  his  past  as  well  as  present  feelings  and  is  a  noble  specimen 

of  her  devoted  affection  : — 

"Felons'  Cell, 

"January  lOift,  1800. 

"Dear  "William,— You  may  guess  my  surprise  to  hear  you  say 
that  John  Cook  knew  nothing  about  you  ;  that  he  invented  a  lie 
to  get  me  to  steal  the  horse.  This  accords,  however,  with  my 
beloved  mistress's  opinion.  Oh  !  how  glad  I  am  that  I  did  not  let 
out  the  secret  that  I  had  money  of  yours  in  hand  !  I  should  have 
lost  everything  if  I  had.  He,  a  villain,  induced  me  to  go  to  London, 
with  the  hope  of  seeing  you  at  the  Dog  and  Bone,  Lambeth.     lie 


252  THE   HISTORY   OP  MARGARET  CATCHPOLE. 

told  me  that  you  were  hiding  from  the  fear  of  arrest,  and  had 
confided  to  him  your  place  of  safety.  He  even  showed  me  a 
letter  purporting  to  come  from  you.  Oh  !  what  an  artful  villain  ! 
— what  punishment  he  deserves  ! 

"  Bat,  dear  William,  make  yourself  easy  about  the  fine.  I  will 
send  for  my  Uncle  Leader  before  the  time  of  your  imprisonment 
expires,  and  the  hundred  and  thirty  pounds  shall  be  given  up  to 
you.  He  shall  pay  the  fine  for  you,  and  shall  give  you  the 
remainder.  You  will  own  now  that  I  am  trustworthy.  Oh  ! 
how  happy  I  am  that  I  did  not  make  away  with  it,  nor  suffer 
others  to  do  so  !  I  kept  it  for  you,  and  it  comes  into  use  at  the 
moment  it  is  most  wanted.  Nobody  need  know  how  it  is  disposed 
of ;  only  remember  your  roor  Margaret,  that  she  longs  for  the 
shortening  of  her  confinement,  that  she  may  join  herself  with  your 
fortunes  wherever  they  may  be. 

"  You  will  soon  regain  your  liberty.  I  may  have  to  complete 
my  seven  years  here.  But  will  you  be  faithful  and  wait  for  me? 
You  promise  fairly.  You  say  you  will  live  at  Sudbourn,  and  try 
to  get  an  honest  living.  Every  hour  of  the  day  I  am  thinking 
about  you  ;  and  at  night  I  dream  sometimes  that  I  am  sailing  upon 
the  ocean  with  you  ;  sometimes  that  I  am  living  with  my  father 
and  brother.  But  dreams  are  deceitful.  I  hope  you  will  never 
prove  such  to  me  again.  I  am  willing  to  join  my  fate  to  your3 
whenever  I  obtain  my  release.  Pray  God  that  may  be  soon. 
Oh  !  that  it  could  come  on  the  day  of  your  own  release  !  but 
come  or  not  then,  believe  mo  ever 

"  Your  affectionate 

11  Margaret  Catciipole." 

Not  long  after  the  date  of  this  letter,  application  was  made  to 
the  Secretary  of  State  for  her  pardon  ;  but,  unfortunately  for  her, 
the  same  causes  which  had  operated  against  her  before  still  prevailed. 
The  crime  of  horse-stealing  was  at  this  date  at  its  highest  pitch, 
and  depredators  of  this  kind  became  so  bold,  that  it  was  thought 
necessary  to  give  a  positive  denial  to  the  application  in  Margaret's 
favour.  The  prospect  of  her  release,  therefore,  did  not  appear  a 
bright  one,  and  every  month  seemed  to  make  it  less  probable. 

The  time  for  the  departure  of  Laud  out  of  prison  now  drew 
*igh,  and  Margaret  wrote  to  her  uncle,  requesting  him  to  come 
and  see  her,  which  he  did  ;  and  she  then  gave  him  full  powers 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  253 

to  withdraw  the  133  guineas  from  Mr.  Smith,  and  requested  him 
to  pay  £100  into  the  hands  of  Mr.  Ripshaw  on  a  certain  dry; 
namely,  the  5th  of  March,  the  day  previous  to  Laud's  term  of 
imprisonment  expiring. 

Mr.  Leader  was  well  assured  that  she  would  never  draw  tie 
money,  except  to  restore  it  to  Will  Laud.  He  asked  her  the  plain 
question.  She  gave  him  an  honest  answer.  She  told  him  tl.at 
Will  was  then  in  prison,  and  that  his  liberty  depended  upon  the 
punctuality  of  the  payment.  Her  honesty  with  her  uncle  saved 
her  from  detection,  for,  in  all  probability,  had  not  Mr.  Leader 
had  more  prudence  than  she  bad,  it  might  had  been  suspected  by 
the  gaoler.  lie  at  once  suggested  that  Mr.  Smith,  who  was  not 
known  to  have  any  connection  with  her,  should  be  requested  to 
pay  the  line  to  Mr.  Ripshaw,  in  behalf  of  the  prisoner.  It  struck 
Margaret,  the  moment  it  was  mentioned,  and  she  felt  surprised 
that  the  hurry  and  anxiety  of  her  own  feelings  should  have  so 
greatly  blinded  her  as  to  leave  her  destitute  of  common  prudence 
in  this  matter. 

It  was  on  the  3rd  of  March,  in  the  year  1800,  that  Margaret  was 
destined  to  undergo  the  severest  temptation  she  had  ever  yet  ex- 
peiienced.  She  bad  been  employed  in  washing  for  the  prisoners, 
and  was  engaged  hanging  out  the  linen  in  the  passage  on  one  of 
the  clothes-horses  used  for  that  purpose,  when  she  was  accosted 
from  the  debtors'  side  in  a  well-known  voice,  "  Margaret  !  what 
a  capital  ladder  one  of  those  horses  would  make,  if  set  against 
the  wall!" 

She  turned  round,  and  there  stood  Will  Laud.  Cautiously  she 
looked  along  the  passage  to  see  if  any  one  wa3  near.  She  pre- 
tended to  be  busily  engaged  ;  at  the  same  time  she  said, — 

"Ah,  "William  !  I  understand  you.  I  wish  I  could  make  my 
escape  with  you,  and  I  would  ;  but  I  fear  the  thing  is  too  difficult." 

"  You  might  manage  it,  Margaret,  when  the  governor  goes  to 
Bury  with  the  prisoners." 

"  How,  William  %     How?" 

"  You  have  the  horse,  and  you  have  the  linen  line.  Look  around 
the  wall,  and  see  if  you  cannot  find  a  place  of  escape.  You  must 
be  tired  of  your  captivity.  I  owe  my  liberty  to  you  ;  and  if  I  can 
once  get  you  out  of  this  place,  no  power  on  earth  shall  separate  ua 
again." 

"  But  where  should  I  go,  William,  if  I  got  out  ] " 


254  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

1  •  To  my  sister's  at  Sudbourn,  Lucy  Keeley.  I  will  tell  her  to 
expect  you." 

"  That  would,  do.  I  will  look  round  and  see  if  it  can  be  done. 
On  the  19th  or  20th  of  this  month,  Mr.  Ripshaw  goes  to  Bury 
with  the  prisoners.  On  Monday  the  24th,  and  Tuesday  the  25th, 
are  our  two  great  washing  days.  It  must  be  one  of  those  nights. 
Will  you  be  waiting  for  me  at  the  end  of  the  lane,  near  St.  Helen's 
Church  ?  " 

"I  will  be  waiting  for  you,  never  fear.  I  will  have  a  sailor's 
jacket  and  hat  to  disguise  you  in." 

"Well,  the  trial  is  worth  the  risk.  I  wil  confide  in  you  once 
more,  Laud  ;  but  if  you  deceive  me,  then,  indeed,  I  care  not 
what  becomes  of  me.  But  I  will  trust  you.  Go  ! — there  is  some 
one  coming." 

Laud  departed,  and  Margaret  busied  herself  with  the  linen. 
That  day  she  had  many  things  given  her  to  mend.  She  contrived 
also  to  get  a  candle,  under  the  pretence  of  working  late.  And  such 
was  the  confidence  which  was  placed  in  her,  and  such  the  quantity 
of  work  she  performed,  that  she  was  trusted  beyond  any  other 
prisoner  in  the  house. 

Margaret  knew  nothing  of  the  penalty  the  law  would  compel  her 
to  pay  for  breaking  out  of  prison.  She  knew  nothing  of  the  bond 
by  which  the  gaoler  was  bound,  in  case  of  the  escape  of  any  of  his 
prisoners.  She  saw  but  her  lover  and  her  liberty,  and  did  not 
suppose  it  any  great  offence,  even  if  she  should  be  detected  in  the 
attempt. 

Her  Uncle  Leader  paid  her  a  visit  on  the  5th,  and  gave  her  the 
thirty  guineas,  telling  her  that  the  hundred  guineas  were  lodged  in 
the  hands  of  Mr.  Ripshaw  for  the  discharge  of  Will  Laud. 

"I  will  give  William  this  money  myself,"  thought  Margaret; 
but  she  breathed  not  one  word  of  her  intended  escape  to  her 
uncle  ;  and  the  good  man  left  her  with  the  conscious  happiness, 
that  let  her  term  of  confinement  be  what  it  might,  she  had  been 
instrumental  in  procuring  the  release  of  her  lover. 

It  was  a  proud  day  for  Margaret,  that  6th  of  March,  1800.  From 
the  felons'  side  she  could  see  her  lover  depart  out  of  gaol  in 
company  with  Mr.  Ripshaw.  She  saw  him  go  to  the  turnkey's 
lodge  ;  and  with  a  heart  at  the  same  time  bounding  with  the  hope 
of  liberty,  she  walked  quietly  round  the  felons'  yard,  looking 
anxiously  up  at  those  long  spikes  to  see  where  the  widest  place 


THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  255 

could  be  found  for  her  to  get  her  body  through.  That  very  hour 
she  discovered  a  place  where  one  of  the  spikes  had  been  broken 
off.  She  looked  at  it  and  sighed.  She  was  very  thoughtful 
about  it.  It  dwelt  upon  her  mind  night  and  day,  till  she  had 
fully  resolved  to  make  the  attempt  at  that  very  spot. 

At  night,  and  early  in  the  morning,  she  was  at  work  for  herself. 
Out  of  one  sheet  she  contrived  to  make  a  smock-frock,  such  as 
shepherds  wear  over  their  clothes.  Out  of  the  other  she  made 
a  pair  of  sailor's  trousers.  These  she  laid  upon  her  bed  in  such 
an  ingenious  manner,  that  no  one  going  into  her  cell  would  dis- 
cover any  difference  in  the  usual  make  of  it. 

Anxiously  did  she  watch  the  hours  for  the  departure  of  Mr. 
IVpshaw  with  the  prisoners  for  trial  at  Bury.  In  the  very  cell 
next  to  her  own  was  a  felon  to  be  taken  away.  The  anxious  time 
came,  and  Margaret  saw  the  governor  and  prisoners  take  their 
departure. 

Meantime,  Laud,  directly  he  left  the  gaol,  went  to  his  sister's 
house  at  Sudbourn.  He  reached  that  place  the  same  night.  He 
told  his  sister  who  it  was  that  had  paid  the  fine  for  him,  and  thus 
completely  won  her  heart  for  Margaret.  His  plan  was  fixed  to  get 
off  with  Margaret  in  a  smuggler's  boat,  and  get  a  cast  to  Holland, 
where  he  intended  to  marry  and  settle.  He  told  his  sister  hh 
p^an,  and  she  approved  it,  and  promised  to  receive  Margaret. 

He  was  not  long  in  ascertaining  what  boats  were  expected  on  the 
coast.  He  had  an  interview  with  one  David  Shaw,  the  master  of 
a  cutter  belonging  to  Captain  Merrells,  and  with  him  came  to  an 
understanding  that,  some  day  after  the  25th,  when  wind  and 
weather  should  suit,  he  should  send  a  boat  ashore  for  him.  A 
red  handkerchief  tied  round  his  hat  should  be  the  signal  that  he 
was  ready.  He  told  him  that  he  should  be  accompanied  by  a 
friend,  whom  he  wished  to  go  over  the  water  with  him.  All  these 
things  were  arranged,  and,  as  far  as  they  went,  were  in  some 
sense  honourable.  In  the  meantime  he  promised  to  assist  in  land- 
ing any  cargoes  along  the  shore.  And  this  part  of  the  contract  he 
performed. 

On  the  10th  of  March,  Mr.  Ripshaw,  with  seven  prisoners, 
departed  for  Bury.  The  business  of  the  assizes  began  on  Thursday, 
the  20th,  and  did  not  terminate  until  that  day  week,  the  27th. 
On  Monday  and  Tuesday  the  wash  took  place.  On  these  occasions 
the  female  convicts   are  all   locked   up   in  one  large  room,    from 


256  THE   HISTORY    OF   MARGARET   CATCHrOLE. 

seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  until  seven  in  the  evening  ;  their  food 
being  brought  to  them  in  the  washing-room.  At  seven  in  the 
evening  they  all  go  into  the  felons'  yard  for  exercise  and  air. 
They  usually  give  their  signal  that  the  wash  is  finished  by  rapping 
at  the  door  about  seven  o'clock.  This  evening,  Tuesday  the  25th, 
Margaret  contrived  by  various  means  to  prolong  the  wash  till  nearly 
eight  o'clock,  and  as  she  had  some  kind  of  acknowledged  authority 
and  influence  among  her  fellow-convicts,  she  insisted  upon  the 
signal  not  being  given  till  the  work  was  completely  finished  ;  so 
that  at  eight  o'clock  it  was  quite  dark.  They  were  let  out  cf  the 
room  into  the  felons'  yard  at  that  time  for  one  half  hour.  Some 
were  accustomed  to  saunter  about,  or  to  have  a  game  of  romps. 
Some,  when  the  season  admitted,  would  weed  the  flower-beds  ;  for 
Mr.  Ripshaw  was  a  great  fancy  florist,  and  used  to  raise  the  best 
ranunculuses,  carnations,  and  polyanthuses,  of  any  person  in  the 
town.  His  garden  adjoined  the  felons'  walk,  and  was  only  separated 
from  it  by  a  very  low  paling.  Margaret  had  continual  access  to  the 
garden,  and  used  to  take  considerable  interest  in  the  culture  of  the 
plants. 

She  was  greatly  disappointed  to  find  that  all  the  linen-hoi\3es 
stood  on  the  stone  area,  between  the  debtors'  and  the  felons'  yards. 
She  had  hoped  that  they  would  have  been  carried  by  the  turnkey 
to  the  drying  ground  in  the  garden,  as  usual,  ready  for  the  linen 
in  the  morning.  Owing  to  some  cause  or  other,  they  were  not 
there  that  night. 

This  was  a  sad  disappointment,  for  she  had  made  up  her  mind 
to  escape  that  very  night.  Could  she  be  suspected?  Had  any- 
body betrayed  her  ?  No,  it  was  impossible.  As  the  turnkey  passed 
the  palings  she  cried  out  to  him,  "  You  have  not  put  out  the  horses 
for  us  to-night  !  " 

"No,  Margaret,"  he  replied,  "we  have  all  been  too  busy 
clembg  the  cells  and  yards;  but  they  shall  be  put  out  the  fi.st 
thing  in  the  morning." 

The  reply  was  both  satisfactory  and  unsatisfactory.  It  convinced 
her  she  was  not  suspected  ;  but  declared  that  she  must  expect  no 
htlp  from  the  linen-horses.  She  was  glad,  however,  to  see  that 
the  lines  were  on  the  posts  for  the  coarse  linen,  and  the  crotches,  or 
props,  hi  their  proper  places. 

She  looked  around  for  something  to  help  her.  The  gaol  wall  wa3 
nearly   twenty-two   feet  high,  and  the  chevanx-dc-frise  three   feet 


THE   HISTORY    OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  ^57 

from  the  point  of  one  revolving  spike  to  its  extreme  point.  What 
could  she  get  to  assist  her  ]  At  one  time  she  thought  of  pulhn^ 
up  a  portion  of  the  paling  for  a  ladder.  She  tried  her  strength  at 
it,  but  it  was  too  much  for  her.  She  then  turned  her  eye  upon  a 
large  frame,  which  was  used  for  the  flowerbeds.  It  covered  a  long 
bed,  and  the  awning  usually  placed  upon  it  to  keep  the  sun  off  the 
flowers  in  the  summer  was  not  there.  She  tried  her  strength  at 
this,  and  lifted  the  leg3  upon  which  it  stood  about  a  foot  upwards. 
This  she  resolved  to  make  her  ladder.  She  looked  up  at  the  narrow 
spot  where  the  iron  spike  had  been  broken,  and  winch  was  close 
to  the  shoulder  or  prop  of  the  chevaux-de-frise.  Hope  beamed 
brightly  upon  her  as  she  thought  of  her  liberty.  Margaret  resolve  1 
to  make  the  attempt  at  midnight.  At  half-past  eight  the  convicts 
all  went  in  to  supper,  and  afterwards  retired  to  their  cells.  But 
Margaret,  the  moment  she  reached  her3,  contrived  to  slip  out  of  it 
again,  with  the  things  she  had  made  for  her  disguise,  into  the 
adjoining  one,  which  stood  open  ;  and  she  crept  under  the  bed  of 
the  felon  who  was  gone  to  Bury  for  trial.  She  had,  as  usual,  closed 
her  own  door,  and  lay  anxiously  waiting  in  her  hiding-place  the 
turnkey's  approach.  She  heard  him  coming  along,  and  asking  the 
several  prisoners,  as  he  came,  if  they  were  in  their  cells.  They 
answered  his  summons,  and  then  she  heard  them  locked  up  ;  and 
now  came  the  challenge  to  her  own  door. 

"  Margaret,  are  you  there  ?  " 

She  put  her  lips  to  the  wall  of  the  cell  where  she  was,  and 
answered,  "  Yes."  It  sounded  exactly  as  if  she  was  in  bed  in  her 
own  cell  ;  and  to  her  great  jcy  she  heard  the  key  turn  in  the  iron 
lock,  and  the  bolt  shoot  into  its  place.  She  breathed  for  a  moment 
freely,  but  the  next  moment  she  experienced  such  a  sudden  revul- 
sion as  few  could  have  borne  without  detection.  To  her  confusion 
and  dismay,  the  turnkey  entered  the  very  cell  where  she  lay 
concealed  under  the  bed.  He  walked  up  to  the  iron-grated  window, 
and,  as  usual,  the  casement  stood  open  for  benefit  of  air  through 
the  passage,  and,  in  a  soliloquising  manner,  said,  "Ah  !  poor  Sarah! 
you  will  never  sleep  upon  this  bed  again  !  " 

In  breathless  agony  did  Margaret  dread  two  things  equally  fatal 
to  her  project.  One  was,  that  he  should  hear  her  breathe  in  the 
stillness  of  the  night,  and  discover  her  ;  the  other,  that  he  should 
lock  the  door  upon  her.  She  knew  that  it  was  not  usual  to  lock 
the  door3  of   those  cells  which   contained    no   prisoners,  but  she 


258  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLK. 

dreaded  lest  the  same  absence  of  mind  which  made  him  saunter 
into  Sarah  Lloyds  cell  should  make  him  lock  the  door.  What  a 
state  of  suspense  !  How  did  her  blood  course  through  her  frame  ! 
She  could  hear  her  heart  beat !  She  was  presently  relieved  from 
her  suspense,  for  the  turnkey,  having  completed  his  duty  in  locking 
up  all  his  prisoners,  quietly  departed  out  of  the  cell,  and  left  the 
door,  as  usual,  standing  wide  open.  Never  was  relief  more  oppor- 
tune or  welcome  than  this  to  her  overcharged  heart.  The  clock 
struck  the  hour3  of  nine,  ten,  and  eleven,  and  Margaret  had  not 
stirred.  She  now  rose,  took  her  shoes  in  her  hand,  and  her  bundle 
under  her  arm  ;  she  then  managed  to  tie  it  up  with  an  apron-string 
o\er  her  shoulders,  and,  with  the  slightest  tread,  stole  along  the 
stone  passage.  A  mouse  would  scarcely  have  been  disturbed  by 
her  as  she  descended  the  front  of  the  steps  that  led  to  the  felons' 
yard. 

To  her  great  comfort  she  found  the  door  unbolted  ;  for  the 
turnkey,  having  locked  every  one  up,  saw  no  necessity  for  bolting 
the  yard  door.  Silently  she  opened  it ;  it  creaked  so  little,  that  the 
wind  prevented  any  sound  reaching  beyond  the  precincts  of  the 
door.  She  made  her  way  to  the  flower  stand  in  the  governor's 
garden,  lifted  the  frame  out  of  the  ground  and  set  it  up  endways 
directly  under  the  broken  spike.  It  reached  a  little  more  than 
half  way  up  the  wall,  being  about  thirteen  feet  long.  She  then 
went  and  took  the  linen  line  off  the  posts,  and  made  a  running 
noose  at  one  end  of  it.  She  then  took  the  longest  clothes-prop 
she  could  find,  and  passed  the  noose  over  the  horn  of  it.  She 
mounted  the  frame  by  the  help  of  the  prop,  and  standing  upon  it 
she  lifted  the  line  up  and  passed  the  noose  over  the  shoulder  of 
the  chevaux-d,3-frise,  then,  pulling  it  tight  and  close  to  the  wall,  it 
slipped  down  the  iron  and  became  fixed. 

Now  came  the  greatest  dilliculty  she  had  ever  overcome  in  her 
life.  She  drew  herself  up  by  the  line  to  the  top  of  the  wall,  and 
laying  her  body  directly  upon  the  roller  where  the  spike  was  broken, 
with  the  help  of  one  hand  grasping  the  shoulder  of  iron,  si  e 
balanced  herself  until  she  had  pulled  up  all  the  line  and  let  it 
full  down  the  other  side  of  the  wall ;  then,  taking  hold  of  the  rope 
with  both  hands,  she  bent  her  body  forward,  and  the  whole  body 
of  spikes  revolved,  turning  her  literally  heels  over  head  0:1  the 
outer  side  of  the  gaol  wall.  Was  there  ever  such  a  desperate  act 
performed  by  any  woman  before  ?     Had  not  the  fact  been  proved 


THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  259 

beyond  all  doubt,  the  statement  might  be  deemed  incredible.  But 
Margaret  Catchpole  did  exactly  as  here  described ;  and  after  the 
oscillation  of  her  body  was  over  from  the  jerk,  she  quietly  let 
herself  down  in  perfect  safety  on  the  other  side. 

Just  as  she  alighted  on  the  earth  St.  Clement's  chimes  played 
for  twelve  o'clock.  It  was  a  gently  sloping  bank  from  the  wall, 
and  a  dry  fosse,  which  she  crossed,  easily  climbed  over  the  low 
wooden  palings  against  the  road,  and  made  her  way  for  the  lane 
against  St.  Helen's  Church.  There  she  found  Will  Laud  in  readi- 
ness to  receive  her,  which  he  did  with  an  ardour  and  devotion  that 
told  he  was  sincere. 

They  fled  to  an  empty  cart-shed  on  the  Woodbridge  road.  Here 
Laud  kept  watch  at  the  entrance  whilst  Margaret  put  on  her 
sailor's  dress.  She  soon  made  her  appearance  on  the  road  with 
her  white  trousers,  hat,  and  blue  jacket,  looking  completely  like 
a  British  tar.  They  did  not  wait  to  be  overtaken,  but  off  they 
started  for  Woodbridge,  and  arrived  at  the  ferry  just  as  the  dawn- 
ing streaks  of  daylight  began  to  tinge  the  east.  Their  intention 
was  to  cross  the  Sutton  Walks  and  Hollesley  Heath  to  Sudbourn. 
Unluckily  for  them,  however,  who  should  they  meet  at  the  ferry 
but  old  Robinson  Crusoe,  the  fisherman,  who,  having  been  driven 
round  the  point  at  Felixstow,  was  compelled  to  come  up  the 
Deben  to  Woodbridge  for  the  sale  of  his  fish.  The  old  man  gave 
them  no  sign  of  recognition,  but  he  knew  them  both,  and,  with 
a  tact  that  few  possessed,  saw  how  the  wind  blew.  But  without 
speaking  to  either  of  them,  he  proceeded  with  his  basket  to  the 
town. 

At  this  they  both  rejoiced,  and  as  they  took  their  journey 
across  that  barren  tract  of  land,  it  seemed  to  them  like  crossing 
a  flowery  mead. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

PUBSUIT   AND    CAPTURE. 


The  morning  after  Margaret's  escape  the  turnkey  was  alarmed  by 
the  call  of  the  gardener,  who  came  early  to  the  prison  to  prune 
some  trees  in  the  governor's  garden.  He  told  the  turnkey  there 
was  a  rope  hanging  down  the  wall,   as  if  some  one  had  escaped 

17 


260  THE    HISTORY    OF   MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

during  the  night.  They  soon  discovered  the  frame  against  the 
wall ;  foot-marks  along  the  beds,  and  the  linen  crotch,  all  told  the 
same  tale.  The  turnkey  then  ran  to  the  men's  cells,  and  found 
them  all  bolted.  He  did  the  same  to  the  women's,  and  found 
them  likewise  fastened  just  as  he  left  them  the  night  before.  He 
then  examined  every  window.  Not  a  bar  was  moved.  He  did 
this  without  speaking  a  word  to  any  one.  At  the  usual  hour  he 
called  up  the  prisoners,  and  marched  them  out  of  their  cells.  Mar- 
garet's was  the  last,  at  the  end  of  the  passage.  When  he  opened 
it,  no  one  answered  lus  summons.  He  walked  in  ;  no  one  was 
there.  The  bed  had  not  been  slept  in,  and  was  without  sheets. 
He  then  made  Mrs.  Ripshaw  acquainted  with  the  facts.  Astonish- 
ment and  alarm  were  depicted  upon  her  countenance.  Her  husband's 
absence  made  the  circumstance  the  more  distressing. 

Search  was  made  in  every  part  of  the  gaol,  but  no  trace  of 
Margaret  could  be  found.  The  women  with  whom  she  washed  the 
day  previously  all  declared  that  they  knew  nothing  of  her  escape. 
They  declared  that  they  say  her  go  before  them  to  the  farther  end 
of  the  passage  to  her  own  cell.  But  how  could  she  escape  and 
lock  the  door?  The  turnkey  was  quite  sure  he  had  secured  her 
in  her  own  cell,  for  that  he  went  into  the  one  adjoining  after  he 
had,  as  he  supposed,  locked  her  up  in  hers.  It  came  out,  however, 
in  the  course  of  inquiry,  that  he  remembered  her  asking  him  about 
the  horses  not  being  set  out  for  the  wash,  and  the  women  declared 
that  Margaret  had  been  very  peremptory  about  not  giving  the  signal 
before  eight  o'clock.  These  things  seemed  to  indicate  a  design  to 
escape,  and  carried  some  suspicion  of  the  fact. 

Mrs.  Ripshaw,  however,  was  not  satisfied,  but  sent  a  swift 
messenger  on  horseback  to  Bury  St.  Edmunds,  with  a  note  to 
acquaint  her  husband  with  the  circumstances.  Mrs.  Ripshaw  also 
wrote  to  Mrs.  Cobbold,  in  the  greatest  agitation,  begging  of  her, 
if  she  knew  where  she  was,  to  give  information  of  it,  as  her  husband 
and  two  sureties  were  bound,  under  a  penalty  of  five  hundred 
pounds  each,  to  answer  for  the  escape  of  any  prisoner  from  the 
gaol.  Such  a  stir  was  created  in  the  town  of  Ipswich  by  this  event 
as  was  scarcely  ever  before  witnessed.  People  flocked  to  the  gaol 
to  see  the  spot  whence  Peggy  had  made  her  escape,  and  many  were 
the  reports  falsely  circulated  concerning  her. 

It  is  not  easy  to  describe  the  grief  and  consternation  which  was 
truly  felt  by  Margaret's  dearest  and  best  friend.     She  knew  the 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  26 1 

consequences  of  this  rash  act ;  that,  if  she  was  taken,  it  waa  death, 
without  any  hope  of  reprieve. 

She  ordered  her  carriage,  and  went  to  the  gaol,  and  was  as  much, 
or  even  more  astonished  than  the  inmates  of  the  prison  could  be. 
She  soon  convinced  Mrs.  Ripshaw  that  she  had  not  the  slightest 
idea  of  any  such  intention  on  the  part  of  her  late  servant,  neither 
could  she  tell  where  she  was  gone.  She  made  inquiries  whether 
she  had  been  seen  talking  with  any  of  the  male  prisoners  ;  but  no 
clue  could  be  gained  here.  Mrs.  Cobbold  was  one  of  those  whose 
decided  opinion  was,  that  she  must  have  had  somebody  as  an  accom- 
plice ;  but  every  soul  denied  it.  This  lady  returned  home  in  the 
greatest  distress  and  uncertainty.  Messengers  were  dispatched  to 
Nacton,  to  Brandiston,  and  even  into  Cambridgeshire,  to  inquire 
after  her. 

When  Mr.  Ripshaw  returned  from  Bury,  he  found  some  of  the 
magistrates  in  the  gaol.  He  had  formed  a  very  strong  opinion  in 
his  own  mind,  and  requested  the  visiting  magistrates  to  examine 
the  turnkey  immediately.  He  was  summoned,  and  examined  before 
Colonel  Edgar,  Mr.  Gibson,  and  Mr.  Neale,  and  closely  questioned. 
His  answers  were  not  deemed  satisfactory. 

The  magistrates  remanded  him  for  a  time,  and  conversed  together 
upon  the  subject.  They  were  of  opinion  that  somebody  must  have 
bribed  the  man,  and  that  he  must  have  let  her  out,  and  have  put 
the  things  as  they  were  found,  as  a  blind  to  turn  suspicion  from 
himself. 

He  was  again  summoned,  and  given  into  custody,  on  suspicion 
of  having  assisted  the  prisoner's  escape. 

In  the  meantime,  every  exertion  was  made  to  discover  the 
prisoner,  but  without  any  success.  The  following  hand-bill  was 
printed  and  circulated  in  every  direction  : — 

"fifty  pounds  eewtard. 

"  Whereas,  on  Tuesday  night,  the  25th  of  March,  or  early  on 
Wednesday  morning,  Margaret  Catchpole,  a  female  convict,  confined 
in  the  Ipswich  gaol,  made  her  escape  therefrom,  either  by  scaling  the 
wall,  or  by  the  connivance  of  the  turnkey,  this  is  to  give  notice,  that 
the  above  reward  shall  be  given  to  any  person  or  persons  who 
will  bring  the  said  Margaret  Catchpole  to  Mr.  Ripshaw,  the  gaoler  ; 
and  one-half  that  sum  to  any  person  or  persons  furnishing  such 
information  as   shall   lead   to   her   apprehension.       And   notice  is 


262  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

hereby  given,  that  any  person  concealing  or  harbouring  the  said 
Margaret  Catchpole  shall,  after  this  notice,  if  detected,  be,  by  order 
of  the  magistrates,  punished  as  the  law  directs. 

"  N.B. — The  prisoner  is  a  tall  and  dark  person,  with  short  hair, 
black  eyes,  and  of  intelligent  countenance.  She  had  on  the  gaol 
dress,  and  took  away  with  her  the  two  sheets  belonging  to  her  bed. 

"  Ipswich  Gaol,  March  28^,  1800." 

This  notice  was  circulated  far  and  near,  and  furnished  topics  for 
conversation  throughout  the  county. 

It  so  happened  that  some  of  the  servants  of  Mrs.  Cobbold 
mentioned  the  subject  of  the  reward  to  the  old  fisherman,  Robinson 
Crusoe,  as  he  stood  at  the  back-door  with  his  basket  of  fish. 

"  Well,  Robin,  have  you  heard  of  the  reward  1  Have  you  heard 
of  Margaret's  escape  from  the  gaol  ?  " 

"No ;  but  I  think  I  have  seen  her,  or  the  foul  fiend  has  played 
me  one  of  his  shabby  tricks." 

"  Seen  her,  Robin  !     Where  ?  " 

"I  saw  that  fellow  Laud,  and  somebody  very  like  her,  go  across 
the  Sutton  Ferry  together.  She  might  deceive  anybody  else,  but 
the  foul  fiend  showed  her  to  me,  though  she  was  in  a  sailor's  dress. 
I  told  your  mistress,  long  ago,  that  no  good  would  come  of 
Margaret. " 

This  news  reached  the  parlour,  and  was  soon  communicated  to 
Mr.  Ripshaw,  who  quickly  had  an  interview  with  Mrs.  Cobbold, 
and  from  her  he  learned  the  intimacy  existing  between  Will  Laud, 
his  late  prisoner,  and  Margaret,  and  could  not  doubt  that  he  had 
assisted  in  her  escape.  He  soon  ascertained  the  probable  bearings 
of  Laud's  destination,  and  lost  no  time  in  prosecuting  the  pursuit. 
He  went  off  for  Woodbridge  and  Sutton  Ferry  directly.  The 
ferryman  corroborated  the  testimony  of  old  Colson  as  to  two 
sailors,  a  slight  one  and  a  stout  one,  passing  over  the  river  in 
his  boat,  on  the  morning  of  the  26th.  They  went  off  directly,  he 
said,  for  Eyke.  Thither  the  gaoler  pursued  his  course,  and  thence 
to  Sudbourn. 

He  found  out  that  two  sailors  had  been  seen  in  that  neigh- 
bourhood such  as  he  described  them,  and  that  they  lodged  at  Mrs. 
Keeley's.  He  took  a  constable  along  with  him  to  the  cottage, 
and  at  once  demanded  his  prisoner.  The  woman  at  first  denied 
all  knowledge  of  the  persons  he  sought,  but,  after  threatening  her 


THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  263 

with  taking  her  off  to  gaol  at  once,  she  confessed  that  her  brother 
and  Margaret  were  down  on  the  coast,  waiting  for  a  boat  to  carry 
them  off  to  sea  ;  she  even  confessed  that  Margaret  slept  with  her 
only  the  night  before,  and  that  a  report  having  reached  them  of 
the  reward  offered  for  her  capture,  she  had  put  a  smock-frock 
over  her  sailor's  jacket,  and  was  assisting  Keeley,  her  husband,  in 
keeping  his  flock  upon  the  marsh  saltings. 

The  constable  of  Sudbourn  and  Mr.  Ripshaw  went  off  immediately 
for  the  saltings.  They  met  Keeley,  the  shepherd,  returning  with 
his  flock,  to  fold  them  upon  the  fallows  ;  but  no  one  was  with  him. 
He  was  a  shrewd,  sharp,  surly  fellow,  and  in  a  moment  understood 
what  was  in  the  wind. 

Mr.  Ripshaw  began  the  attack.  "  Constable,  take  that  man  into 
custody." 

"  Where's  your  warrant,  Mr.  G-aoler  ?  '  Old  birds  are  not  to  be 
caught  with  chaff.'  ~Now,  then,  your  warrant  for  my  apprehension, 
and  I  am  the  man  to  go  with  you.  Come,  show  me  the  warrant 
at  once  ;  or,  you  no  sooner  lift  your  hand  against  me  than  I  will 
show  you  what  resistance  is,  and  you  shall  take  the  consequences  of 
an  assault  upon  my  person." 

The  fellow  stood  with  his  brawny  limbs  displayed  before  them, 
and  his  two  fierce,  rough-coated,  short,  flap-eared  dogs  wagging 
their  stumps  of  tails,  and  looking  earnestly  in  their  master's  face, 
to  see  if  he  gave  the  signal  for  them  to  attack  either,  or  both  the 
gaoler  and  the  constable.  It  wa3  clear  that  they  must  go  upon 
another  tack. 

The  shepherd  gave  a  shrill  whistle  to  his  dogs,  and  on  they 
dashed,  driving  the  sheep  towards  the  fold. 

They  proceeded  directly  along  the  shingled  hardware  to  the 
beach,  or  rather  to  the  shore  of  the  river-side,  which  in  those  parts 
much  resembles  the  seashore.  The  revenue  cutter's  boat  was  then 
going  across  the  stream  of  the  Aide  ;  they  hailed  it,  and  the  officer 
in  command  ordered  his  men  to  return. 

It  was  young  Barry  who  came  on  shore  from  the  boat,  and  he 
immediately  walked  a  little  way  apart  with  the  gaoler,  who  explained 
to  him  the  nature  of  his  business  ;  and  painful  as  its  connection 
with  Margaret  Catchpole  made  it  to  Barry,  his  sense  of  duty  com- 
pelled him  to  render  the  assistance  required.  Accordingly,  they 
were  soon  seated  in  the  stern  of  the  boat,  and  were  rowed  by  his 
men  towards  the  spot,  where,  on  the  main  shore,  Laud  and  Mar- 


264  THE   HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

garet  stood,  anxiously    watching  the   approach  of   a  boat   from  a 
vessel  on  the  sea. 

There  they  stood,  not  only  unconscious  of  approaching  danger, 
but  congratulating  themselves  upon  the  prospect  of  a  termination 
of  all  their  troubles.  Joyfully  did  they  watch  the  boat  coming 
over  the  billows  of  the  sea,  not  seeing  the  other  boat  approaching 
them  from  the  river.  A  few  minutes  more,  and  they  would  have 
been  beyond  the  reach  of  gaolers  and  of  prisons. 

Neither  Laud  nor  Margaret  saw  them  until  they  came  down  upon 
them,  headed  by  the  gaoler,  whose  voice  Margaret  instantly  re- 
cognised. With  a  wild  shriek  that  made  the  welkin  ring,  she 
rushed  into  the  sea,  and  would  at  once  have  perished,  had  not 
Laud  caught  her,  as  a  wave  cast  her  back  upon  the  beach,  and 
suddenly  deprived  her  of  sense  and  speech. 

He  stood  across  the  seemingly  lifeless  body  of  that  devoted  girl, 
and  with  a  pistol  in  each  hand  cocked,  and  presented  to  the  fore- 
most men,  the  officer  and  the  gaoler,  he  exclaimed,  "  Let  us  go — 
we  are  not  defrauding  the  revenue — you  have  no  business  with  us  !  " 

"  You  may  go  unhurt,"  replied  the  gaoler,  "  if  you  will  deliver 
up  the  body  of  Margaret  Catchpole.  I  must  and  will  have  her  in 
my  custody." 

"  If  you  do,  Mr.  Ripshaw,  it  shall  be  at  the  peril  of  your  life, 
or  the  cost  of  mine.  The  first  man  who  approaches  to  touch  her 
shall  be  a  corpse,  or  he  shall  make  me  one." 

There  was  such  determination  in  his  words  and  attitude,  that 
every  one  saw  he  would  not  flinch.  It  was  a  painful  moment  for 
young  Barry  ;  he  wished  to  save  the  life  of  Laud  ;  he  did  not  wish 
to  risk  that  of  any  of  his  men  ;  he  stepped  forward,  and  said, — 

"  Will  Laud,  let  me  entreat  you  to  give  up  the  person  of  Margaret 
Catchpole  ;  she  has  escaped  from  the  custody  of  the  gaoler,  and  is 
under  sentence  of  transportation.  I  promise  that  you  shall  depart 
in  sifety,  and  that  she  shall  take  no  hurt.  Do  not  force  me  to 
shed  blood — we  must  take  her  !  " 

The  next  instant  two  pistols  flashed,  and  Laud  lay  stretched 
upon  the  sand.  He  had  first  fired  at  Barry  and  missed  him,  and 
the  next  moment,  in  self-defence,  Barry  was  compelled  to  fire  in 
return.  The  ball,  which  was  intended  only  to  have  disabled  his 
arm,  passed  through  his  heart  and  killed  him  on  the  spot.  So 
ended  the  career  of  a  man  who,  only  in  the  few  latter  days  of  his 
life,  seemed  steadily  resolved  to  act  fairly  by  the  woman  who  had 


THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  265 

devoted  her  life  to  him,  and  to  follow  some  honourable  occupation 
in  a  foreign  land.  Poor  Susan's  words  at  last  proved  true  : 
"Margaret,  you  will  never  marry  William  Laud." 

The  bodies  of  Laud  and  Margaret  were  both  carried  by  the 
sailors  to  the  preventive-service  boat,  and  laid  upon  the  men's 
cloaks  at  the  bottom  of  it.  After  a  while,  Margaret  began  to 
revive,  and  her  awakening  dream  was,  that  she  was  on  board  the 
smuggler's  boat,  which  was  coming  to  meet  them.  But  the  men 
in  that  boat,  observing  the  fearful  odd3  against  them,  had  only 
rested  on  their  oars  to  see  the  fatal  result  which  took  place,  and 
then  turned  back  and  steered  for  their  own  vessel 

Margaret  looked  wildly  round  her  as  the  moonlight  shone  upon 
the  sailors.  She  whispered,  "  Laud  !  Laud  !  "  and  saw  something 
lying  in  a  line  with  herself  upon  the  same  cloaks,  but  could  not 
distinguish  anything  but  a  sailor's  dress  :  she  heard  a  voice  at  the 
helm  which  was  familiar  to  her  ;  she  recognised  it  to  be  Barry's ; 
she  lifted  her  head,  and  saw  the  banks  of  the  river  on  both  sides 
of  the  water.  The  truth  seemed  to  flash  upon  her,  for  she  fell 
backwards  again,  fainted  away,  and  became  insensible. 

She  and  her  lover  were  conveyed  to  the  Ship  Inn  at  Orford. 
The  sailors  who  carried  her,  sensible  of  the  devoted  heart  of  the 
poor  girl,  seemed  oppressed  with  heaviness,  and  could  not  refrain 
addressing  one  another,  in  their  own  peculiar  style,  upon  the  bad 
job  of  that  night.  Margaret  became  too  soon  and  too  fully 
acquainted  with  her  situation.  She  shed  tears  of  the  deepest 
agony  ;  her  mind  was  distracted,  and  without  consolation.  She 
did  not  speak  to  any  one  ;  but  between  sobs,  and  groans,  and 
lamentations  upon  her  loss,  she  seemed  the  most  melancholy  picture 
of  human  woe.  By  what  she  had  heard  from  some  of  the  pitying 
sailors  around  her,  she  understood  that  it  was  young  Edward  Barry 
who  had  shot  her  lover.  When  he  came  into  the  room  where  she 
was  seated  in  an  arm-chair,  with  her  head  resting  in  an  agony  upon 
her  hand,  he  went  up  to  speak  to  her.  She  lifted  up  her  hands, 
turned  her  head  aside,  and  exclaimed — 

"  Begone,  wretch  !  Did  you  not  voluntarily  promise  you  would 
never  hurt  him?" 

"  And  so  I  would,  Margaret,  if  he  would  have  permitted  me  to 
do  so.  But  he  would  not.  He  first  fired  at  me,  and  then  I 
returned  it ;  but  only  with  the  intention  of  disarming  him." 

"  You  have  done  a  noble  deed,  and  one  which  will  immortalise 


266  THE   HISTORY   OP   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

your  name,  one  which  will  form  a  source  of  happy  reflection  to  you 
hereafter,  most  noble  man  of  war !  You  have  killed  a  harmless 
man,  and  have  taken  captive  a  poor  fugitive  female  !  Happy 
warrior  !  you  will  be  nobly  rewarded  ! " 

"  Do  not  reproach  me,  Margaret,  but  forgive  me.  I  have  only 
done  my  duty ;  and,  however  painful  it  has  been,  you  would  not 
reproach  me,  if  you  did  but  know  how  much  I  really  grieved  for 
you." 

"Your  grief  for  me  will  do  me  about  as  much  good  as  mine 
will  poor  William  ! "  and  here  Margaret  burst  into  a  flood  of 
tears,  which  words  could  not  in  any  way  repress. 

A  post-chaise  was  ordered  to  the  inn-door,  and  Margaret,  appa- 
rently more  dead  than  alive,  was  placed  within  it,  and  the  gaoler 
taking  his  seat  beside  her,  they  were  conveyed  immediately  to 
Ipswich. 

She  was  once  more  confined  within  those  walls  which  she  had  so 
recently  scaled ;  she  made  no  secret  of  the  manner  in  which  she 
had  effected  her  escape ;  she  fully  confessed  her  own  work,  and 
perfectly  exonerated  every  other  person  in  the  gaol. 

It  was  well  for  the  poor  turnkey  that  she  was  captured.  He 
was  immediately  released  from  confinement,  and  re-instated  in  his 
office. 

Margaret  was  now  kept  in  almost  solitary  confinement,  to  mourn 
over  her  unhappy  lot,  and  to  reflect  upon  the  death  of  one  whom 
she  had  loved  too  well. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

SECOND  TRIAL,    AND   SECOND   TIME   CONDEMNED  TO   DEATH. 

After  the  arrival  of  Margaret  at  the  Ipswich  gaol,  several  magis- 
trates attended,  at  the  request  of  Mr.  Ripshaw,  to  take  the 
deposition  of  the  prisoner.  She  was  summoned  into  the  gaoler's 
parlour,  or,  as  it  was  more  properly  called,  the  "  Magistrates' 
Room.''  The  depositions  of  Mr.  Ripshaw  and  of  the  constable  of 
Sudbourn,  were  first  taken  down.  The  nature  of  the  offence  was 
then  for  the  first  time  explained  to  Margaret,  and  its  most  dreadful 
consequences  at  once  exposed.     She  was   taken  completely   by 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  267 

surprise.  She  had  no  idea  that,  in  doing  as  she  had  done,  she 
had  been  guilty  of  anything  worthy  of  death,  and  made  no  hesitation 
in  telling  the  magistrates  so.  She  told  them,  moreover,  that  her 
conscience  did  not  accuse  her  of  any  crime  in  the  attempt,  and 
that  she  thought  it  a  cruel  and  bloody  law  which  could  condemn 
her  to  death  for  such  an  act. 

"But  are  you  aware,"  said  Mr.  Gibson,  one  of  the  visiting 
magistrates,  "that  you  have  broken  that  confidence  with  Mr. 
Bipshaw  which  he  placed  in  you,  and  that  you  subjected  him  and 
his  sureties  to  the  penalty  of  five  hundred  pounds  each,  had  he 
not  recovered  you,  and  brought  you  back  to  prison  1 " 

u  Had  I  been  aware  of  such  a  thing,  I  should  then  have  thought 
myself  as  bad  as  if  I  had  stolen  the  money,  and  should,  indeed, 
have  broken  the  confidence  which,  with  such  a  knowledge,  would 
have  been  placed  in  me,  but  I  knew  nothing  of  such  a  fact.  My 
master,  Mr.  Ripshaw,  was  always  kind  and  indulgent  to  me,  and 
my  mistress  the  same,  but  they  never  hinted  such  a  thing  to  me. 
I  was  not  aware  that,  with  regard  to  my  personal  liberty,  there 
was  any  bond  of  mutual  obligation  between  me  and  my  master.  I 
was  always  locked  up  at  the  usual  time,  and  it  never  was  said  to 
me,  '  Margaret,  I  will  rely  upon  your  honour  that  you  will  never 
attempt  to  escape.'  No  promise  was  exacted  from  me,  and  I  did 
not  think  that  it  was  any  breach  of  confidence  to  do  as  I  have 
done." 

"  You  do  not  consider  that  you  might  have  ruined  an  innocent 
man  ;  that  the  turnkey  was  actually  committed  upon  suspicion  of 
having  connived  at  your  departure,  as  nobody  would  believe  that 
you  could  have  done  such  an  act  of  your  own  accord." 

11  I  might  not  have  done  it  of  my  own  accord,  though  I  certainly 
did  it  without  the  assistance  of  any  human  being.  He,  alas  !  is 
dead  who  persuaded  me  to  it,  though  I  confess  it  did  not  require 
any  very  great  degree  of  persuasion  ;  and  I  fear  that,  were  he  living 
now,  I  should  almost  attempt  the  same  again." 

"There  you  speak  contemptuously,  and  in  a  very  unbecoming 
manner,  young  woman." 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  be  disrespectful  to  you,  gentlemen,  especially 
as  you  are  so  kind  as  to  explain  to  me  the  nature  of  the  law.  I 
only  meant  to  express  my  own  weakness.  But  may  I  ask  what 
law  it  is  that  makes  the  act  I  have  been  guilty  of  so  felonious 
as  to  deserve  death  ? " 


268  THE   HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

"  You  may  ask  any  question  you  please,  but  you  must  not  add 
defiance  to  your  impropriety  and  guilt.  You  are  sensible  enough 
to  be  well  assured  that  the  magistrates  here  present  are  not  your 
judges.  They  have  a  duty  to  perform  to  their  country  ;  and  they 
consider  it  a  privilege  and  an  honour  that  their  sovereign  places 
them  in  the  situation  of  such  an  active  service  as  to  send  prisoners 
before  the  judge  ;  that  such  as  transgress  the  laws,  and  render 
themselves  unfit  to  enjoy  rational  liberty,  should  be  punished,  as 
men  not  worthy  to  be  members  of  a  well-organised  and  civilised 
community.  By  the  law  of  the  land  you  live  in,  you  have  once 
been  condemned  to  death  for  horse-stealing.  By  the  mercy  of  your 
king,  you  have  had  a  reprieve,  and  a  commutation  of  that  sentence 
of  death  for  transportation  for  seven  years.  The  period  you  have 
spent  in  gaol  is  part  of  that  sentence.  Now  understand  the 
law  : — 

"  '  Any  prisoner  breaking  out  of  gaol,  if  he  resist  his  gaoler,  may 
be  killed  on  the  spot,  in  the  attempt  of  the  gaoler  to  restrain  him. 
And  any  person  breaking  out  after  sentence  of  death,  shall  be  con- 
sidered liable  to  that  punishment  for  his  original  offence,  which 
had  been  commuted,  and  shall  suffer  death  accordingly.  If  he 
escape  through  the  door  of  his  prison,  when  left  open,  it  shall  not 
be  felony,  because  it  is  the  negligence  of  the  gaoler  ;  but  if  he 
break  out,  after  proper  caution  exercised  for  his  security,  either  by 
force  in  the  day,  or  by  subtlety  in  the  night,  then  it  shall  be 
felony.' 

"  Such  is  the  law  ;  and  though  in  your  case,  young  woman,  you 
may  not  consider  it  just,  yet  when  you  reflect  upon  your  example 
to  others,  you  will  see  it  in  a  different  light.  If  every  prisoner 
should  go  unpunished  who  broke  out  of  prison  what  continual 
attempts  would  be  made  to  escape  !  I  am  truly  sorry  for  your 
case  :  but  the  law  is  made  for  offenders  ;  and  it  is  our  duty  to  send 
you  to  Bury  again  for  trial.  In  the  meantime,  the  gaoler  will  be 
upon  the  alert,  and  take  good  care  that  you  do  not  commit  the 
same  offence  again." 

Margaret  thanked  Mr.  Gibson  for  his  explanation.  She  felt  very 
sorry,  she  said,  if  she  had  offended  any  one,  and  hoped  they  would 
forgive  her  ignorance  and  unintentional  offence. 

She  was  fully  committed  to  take  her  trial  for  the  second  offence. 
Mr.  Gibson  was  much  astonished  at  her  presence  of  mind  and 
singularly  acute  understanding,  as  well  as  appropriate  and  becom- 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  269 

ing  form  of  speech,  which  she  used  as  naturally  as  she  felt  it. 
His  words  to  one  deeply  interested  for  Margaret  were,  "  What  a 
pity  that  such  a  woman  should  not  know  the  value  of  her  liberty 
before  she  lost  it !  " 

The  reader  knows  the  reason  why  Margaret  broke  out  of  prison, 
and  has  seen  how  she  became  a  second  time  amenable  to  the  laws. 
He  will  observe,  that  it  was  from  her  acquaintance  with  that 
desperate  man,  who  had  been  the  cause  of  misery  to  her  and  her 
family,  from  the  first  days  of  her  acquaintance  with  him .  But  he 
was  now  dead.  The  cause  was  removed,  and  with  it  died  every 
wish  of  her  heart  for  life  and  liberty. 

But  it  was  not  the  place  that  made  Margaret  so  unhappy.  It 
was  the  void  occasioned  by  the  having  no  one  now  to  love,  that 
made  her  feel  as  if  no  one  in  the  world  loved  her.  In  this  she  was 
greatly  mistaken  ;  for  though  her  offence  had  occasioned  much 
condemnation  among  those  who  were  interested  in  her,  yet  they 
wero  not  so  lost  to  pity  and  compassion  as  not  to  feel  for  her 
sufferings.  Among  the  foremost  of  those  friends  was  her  former 
mistress,  who,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  was  charitable. 

As  soon  as  she  heard  that  Margaret  was  retaken,  she  saw  at 
once  all  the  dreadful  consequences  which  awaited  her,  and  knew 
that  she  would  require  more  than  double  attention  and  care.  Her 
first  step  was  an  application  to  a  magistrate  (Mileson  Edgar,  Esq., 
of  the  Red  House),  for  an  order  to  visit  Margaret  in  prison,  and 
the  application  was  immediately  granted  in  the  following  letter 
from  that  gentleman  : — 

"  Red  House,  May  10tk,  1800. 
"My  deae  Madam, — Any  request  that  you  would  make  would 
be  sure  to  meet  with  prompt  attention  from  me,  because  I  am  well 
assured  that  you  would  not  make  one  which  I  could  not  grant,  and 
which,  when  granted,  would  not  give  me  pleasure  to  have  attended 
to.  Herewith  I  send  you  an  order  to  Mr.  Ripshaw  to  admit  you 
to  visit  Margaret  Catchpole  during  her  confinement  in  the  Ipswich 
gaol.  What  an  extraordinary  being  she  is  !  a  clever,  shrewd,  and 
well-behaved  person,  yet  strangely  perverted  in  her  judgment  ! 
She  actually  cannot  be  persuaded  that  she  has  offended  against  the 
laws  of  her  country.  You  will,  I  trust,  my  dear  madam,  by  the 
exercise  of  your  influence  and  judgment,  convince  her  of  her  folly. 
I  am  truly  glad  that  you  intend  going  to  see  her  ;   for  next  to 


270  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

the  pleasure  derived  from  granting  your  request  is  the  comfort  1 
derive  from  the  prospect  of  great  benefit  therein  to  the  prisoner. 
"  Believe  me,  my  dear  madam, 

"  Ever  yours  sincerely, 

"  Mileson  Edgar. 

K  Rev.  R.  Cobbold, 
"  St.  Margaret's  Green,  Ipswich." 

The  visit  was  soon  paid  to  poor  Margaret  in  her  cell,  and  it  was 
one  of  deep  interest  and  importance,  inasmuch  as  it  paved  the 
way  for  a  better  frame  of  mind,  and  deeper  humility,  than  this 
wretched  young  woman  ever  before  felt.  On  this  account  we  shall 
record  the  particulars  of  the  interview  in  detail,  as  related  by  the 
lady  herself. 

When  Mrs.  Cobbold  entered  the  cell,  Margaret  rose  and  curtsied 
respectfully,  and  the  next  moment  the  big  tears  rolled  down  her 
cheeks,  and  her  chest  heaved  with  convulsive  emotion,  as  if  her 
heart  would  break.  The  gaoler  placed  a  chair  for  the  lady,  and 
retired  to  the  end  of  the  passage.  For  a  long  time  nothing  could 
be  heard  but  the  occasional  sobs  of  the  prisoner.  At  length  she 
spoke  : — 

"  Oh  !  my  dear  lady,  how  can  you  look  upon  me  ?  You  are 
good  to  come  and  see  me  ;  but  indeed  I  feel  as  if  I  was  not  worthy 
you  should  come.  I  never  dared  to  ask  it  of  you.  I  had  scarcelf 
any  hope  of  it.  It  is  only  your  goodness.  I  am  a  poor,  ill-fated 
being,  doomed  to  sorrow  and  despair  !  " 

"  Margaret,  I  came  to  see  you  from  a  sense  of  duty  to  God,  and 
to  you  too :  I  came  to  try  and  comfort  you  ;  but  how  can  I  give 
consolation  to  you  if  you  talk  of  your  being  ill-fated  and  doomed 
to  despair  1  Do  not  say  that  the  doom  of  fate  has  anything  to  do 
with  your  present  situation.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do,  that  unless 
you  had  misconducted  yourself,  you  might  have  been  as  happy  now 
as  you  were  when  I  saw  you  after  your  return  from  Bury.  Put 
your  sin  upon  yourself,  and  not  upon  your  fate.  You  know  the 
real  cause  of  this  unhappiness. " 

"  Ah  !  dear  lady,  what  would  you  have  done  if  you  had  been  me 
and  in  my  place  1 " 

"  I  might  have  done  as  you  did  ;  but  I  do  think,  Margaret, 
knowing  what  a  friend  I  had  always  been  to  you,  that  you  might 
have  placed  confidence  in  me,  and  have  told  me   Laud  was  in 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  27 1 

prison.     I  observed  that  you  were  much  disturbed,  and  not  your- 
self, when  I  last  came  to  see  you,  but  I  could  not  divine  the  cause." 

"  I  was  afraid  to  tell  you,  madam,  lest  you  should  persuade  me 
to  give  up  my  acquaintance  with  him,  and  I  had  learned  much 
more  to  his  credit  than  I  knew  before." 

"  And  so,  by  following  your  own  inclination,  you  have  brought 
your  lover  and  yourself  to  an  untimely  death.  Oh,  Margaret !  had 
you  confided  in  me,  I  should  have  persuaded  you  to  have  tried 
him  until  you  had  obtained  your  discharge  from  prison  ;  then, 
had  he  been  a  respectable  and  altered  man,  I  should  have  approved 
of  your  marriage." 

11  But  think,  dear  lady,  how  constant  he  had  been  to  me  for  so 
many  years  !     Surely  his  patience  deserved  my  confidence." 

"  And  what  good  did  you  ever  find  it  do  you,  Margaret  !  Look 
at  the  consequences." 

"  I  could  not  foresee  them.     How  could  I  then  look  at  them  ?  " 

"  Though  you  were  so  blind  as  not  to  foresee  the  consequences, 
others,  with  more  reflection  and  forethought,  might  have  done  so 
for  you  ;  and,  assuredly,  had  you  hinted  the  matter  to  me,  I  should 
have  prevented  what  has  happened." 

"  I  wish  indeed,  now,  that  I  had  done  so.  I  suffer  most  severely 
in  my  mind,  not  from  the  fear  of  punishment,  but  because  I  have 
been  the  cause  of  William  Laud's  death." 

"  And  he  will  have  been  the  cause  of  your  own,  Margaret.  Had 
he  not  persuaded  you  to  break  out  of  prison,  he  would  not  have 
been  killed.  He  knew  the  penalty  was  death  to  you  if  you  were 
caught,  and  he  has  met  that  very  end  to  which  he  has  now  made 
you  liable.  Had  he  loved  you  lawfully  and  honourably,  as  he 
ought  to  have  done,  he  would  have  waited  for  your  free  and  happy 
discharge.,, 

"  But  it  seems  to  me,"  said  Margaret,  "  so  very  strange,  some- 
thing so  out  of  justice,  to  condemn  a  person  to  die  for  that  which 
does  not  appear  to  her  to  be  a  crime.  I  cannot  see  the  blood- 
guiltiness  that  I  have  thus  brought  upon  myself.  In  God's  com- 
mandments I  find  it  written,  '  Thou  shalt  not  steal.'  I  stole  the 
horse,  and  I  could  see  that  I  deserved  to  die,  because  I  transgressed 
that  commandment ;  but  I  do  not  find  it  said,  '  Thou  shalt  not 
escape  from  prison.'  " 

"Now,  Margaret,  your  own  reasoning  will  condemn  you.  You 
acknowledged  that  you  deserved  to  die  for  stealing  the  horse.    Now 


272  THE   HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

consider  the  difference  between  the  sentence  you  were  actually 
prepared  to  submit  to  and  the  one  for  which  it  was  in  mercy 
changed.  Though  justly  condemned  to  death,  you  were  permitted 
to  live,  and  undergo  a  comparatively  mild  punishment,  yet  you 
cannot  see  the  duty  of  submitting  to  it.  You  should  have  endured 
the  lesser  punishment  without  a  murmur.  You  appeared  to  receive 
the  award  of  it  with  such  thankfulness  that  it  made  all  your  friends 
rejoice  for  you.  But  how  deep  is  their  present  sorrow  !  What 
will  the  judge  say  to  you  now  when  you  are  placed  before  him? 
Religion  teaches  you  submission  to  the  constituted  authorities  of 
your  country  ;  and  you  ought  to  think  with  humility,  as  you  once 
did,  that,  like  the  thief  on  the  cross,  you  suffer  justly  for  your 
crimes.  To  my  mind,  Margaret,  you  have  no  excuse  whatever. 
It  may  be  all  very  well  for  romantic  ideas  of  fancy  to  make  your 
lover  the  excuse  ;  but  you  were  not  at  liberty  to  choose  to  roam 
over  the  sea  with  him  until  you  could  do  so  with  a  free  conscience." 
"  It  is  not  for  me,  dear  lady,  to  say  a  word  against  your  reason- 
ing.    I  did  not  look  upon  my  crime  in  this  light." 

"  You  must  learn  to  look  upon  your  crime  as  one  which  has  done 
injury  to  society.  Which  of  your  friends,  who  interceded  for  you 
with  the  judge,  and  gave  you  so  good  a  character,  can  now  intercede 
for  you  again  ?  I  am  persuaded,  Margaret,  that  the  judge  himself 
will  think  his  former  mercy  much  misplaced,  and  that  you  will 
meet  with  severity  and  reproach  at  his  hands." 

"Dear  lady!  who  can  give  me  comfort?  Laud  is  dead,  my 
father  is  dead,  my  brother  is  at  a  distance,  and  will  probably  be  so 
ashamed  of  me  that  he  will  never  come  to  see  me  again.  To 
whom,  then,  can  I  look  for  help?  You,  my  dear  mistress,  must 
be  hurt  at  my  conduct,  and  all  my  friends  likewise.  I  do  not 
deserve  their  compassion,  and  yet  I  never  wanted  help  so  much. 
Oh  !  who  shall  comfort  me  now  ?  " 

"You  shall  have  all  the  consolation  I  can  give  you  ;  I  will  pray 
for  you  continually  ;  I  will  lend  you  such  books  to  read  as  I  think 
may  assist  you  ;  and  were  we  not  now  about  to  remove  from 
St.  Margaret's  Green  to  the  Cliff  again,  and  in  the  midst  of  much 
bustle,  I  would  come  to  see  you  much  oftcner  than  I  can  now  do. 
My  family  is  increasing,  and  your  master  says  he  must  return 
again  to  the  brewery  and  to  business.  But  I  will  come  and  see 
you  many  times,  and  when  I  cannot  come  I  will  write  such  instruc- 
tions as,  if  you  pursue  them  diligently,  may,  with  God's  blessing, 


THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  273 

promote  your  everlasting  benefit.  I  am  glad  that  you  are  sensible 
of  your  sins.  This  will  go  some  way  towards  your  deriving  con- 
solation from  the  Word  of  God.  Attend  to  the  precepts  of  the 
chaplain,  who  is  a  good  man,  and  understands  your  disposition 
as  well  as  I  do.  I  shall  often  communicate  with  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Sharp  concerning  you.  You  must  indeed  be  very,  very  humble, 
before  you  can  obtain  that  sweet  peace  of  mind  which  you  once 
possessed.  It  will  come  to  you  again,  if  you  are  sincerely  penitent 
and  resigned,  but  not  without." 

"  You  are  a  dear  friend,  madam,  to  the  poor  destitute,  and  the 
only  one  now  left  me  upon  the  earth.  Oh  !  how,  dear  lady,  can 
I  be  worthy  of  such  kind  consideration  ?  Forgive  me  !  oh,  pray 
forgive  me  !  " 

1 '  Margaret,  I  wish  the  law  could  as  freely  forgive  you  as  I  do, 
but  you  must  not  expect  it.  You  must  fortify  your  soul  with 
religious  consolation  alone.  Everything  else  will  fail.  You  must 
think  of  far  greater  love  than  I  can  show  to  you,  Margaret  ;  love 
that  has  endured  inexpressible  anguish  for  you  ;  love  that  has 
laid  down  life  for  you  ;  and  that  will  teach  you  how  to  die.  You 
must  think  of  your  Saviour's  love — free,  unsought,  undeserved 
love.  Oh,  the  depth  of  His  riches  !  Who  can  estimate  them  as 
he  ought1?  You  must  look  up  to  Him  during  every  moment  of 
your  short  existence,  and  be  never  weary  of  praying  to  Him  for 
forgiveness.  But  I  must  now  leave  you,  Margaret.  It  shall  not 
be  long  before  I  see  you  again.     God  bless  you  !  Good-bye  !  " 

Margaret  could  not  speak,  but  she  knelt  down  and  prayed 
inwardly. 

For  the  next  three  months  Mrs.  Cobbold  became  a  frequent 
visitor  at  the  gaol,  and  found  that  Margaret  made  the  best  use 
of  her  time  between  the  period  of  her  committal  and  her  trial. 
How  instructive  are  the  minutes  of  her  progress,  which  that  lady 
made,  during  that  most  engaging  period  !  and  how  blessedl] 
employed  was  the  enlightened  mistress  in  communicating  light  U 
her  poor  benighted  servant  !  It  was  now  that  she  made  amends, 
in  her  own  heart,  for  that  too  common  error  among  all  who  exercise 
power  and  authority  :  the  neglect  of  the  spiritual  welfare  of  their 
dependants.  She  applied  her  powerful  faculties  to  the  strengthen- 
ing and  refreshing  of  her  servant's  mind,  by  humbling  herself  with 
her  before  God.  And  well  was  she  repaid  for  this  exertion.  Abun- 
dant was  the  reward  +0  herself  in  obtaining  that  experience  in  the 


274  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

ways  of  godliness  which  strengthened  her  own  faith  and  increased 
her  charity. 

Margaret's  mind  underwent  a  complete  change.  She  might  be 
truly  said  to  be  a  resigned  and  patient  Christian ;  one  who, 
from  that  day  to  her  latest  moments,  never  lost  the  influence  of 
those  purest  principles  and  most  blessed  hopes  which  were  then 
instilled  and  rooted  in  her  soul. 

On  the  1st  of  August,  the  day  previously  to  her  departure  for 
Bury,  Margaret  received  the  following  letter  from  her  excellent 
mistress : — 

"  Cliff,  Ipswich,  August  1st,  1800. 
"  Margaret, — I  cannot  come  and  see  you,  as  I  had  intended 
this  day  to  have  done,  having  been  so  unfortunate  as  to  sprain  my 
ankle  in  getting  out  of  my  carriage  on  to  the  stone  step  at  the  Cliff. 
But  I  am  so  full  of  thought  about  you,  that  my  painful  foot  shall 
not  prevent  my  willing  hand  writing  to  you  a  few  words  before 
you  depart.  It  may  be  good  for  you  and  me  that  this  accident 
has  occurred,  however  much  it  may  seem  our  present  privation. 
It  may  teach  us  that  we  never  can  command  events,  or  tell  what  a 
day  may  bring  forth.  It  may  so  happen  that  this  letter  may  do 
you  more  good  than  my  visit ;  if  so,  I  shall  not  regret  the  pain  I 
suffer,  since  I  shall  have  the  consolation  of  its  seeming  evil  being 
productive  of  some  good.  Oh,  how  I  wish  that  we  could  look  upon 
all  events  in  the  same  manner,  and  be  persuaded  that  all  things 
'  work  together  for  good  to  them  that  love  God  ! '  Let  us  (i.e., 
you  and  I)  be  thus  persuaded.  It  will  prevent  us  experiencing 
any  present  mortification  in  the  impossibility  of  our  seeing  each 
other  at  this  time. 

11 1  would  first  speak  to  you  about  your  conduct  at  the  trial, 
and  my  pen  does  that  which  my  tongue  would  do.  Do  not  attempt 
in  any  way  to  defend  your  conduct.  Being  fully  convinced,  by 
God's  grace,  of  the  criminality  of  your  act  and  deed,  let  no  legal 
sophistry  whatever  induce  you  to  plead  not  guilty.  In  a  court  of 
justice,  you  should  stand  before  man  in  the  same  way  as  you 
would  before  your  Maker,  without  any  covert  deceit,  any  desire 
to  make  a  bad  case  appear  a  good  one, 

"  Satan  is  sometimes  transformed  into  an  angel  of  light.  He  is 
bo  eloquent,  so  engaging,  so  bold,  so  devoted,  so  earnest,  so 
intelligent,  so  interesting,  so  persuasive,  that  a  lie  comes  from 
him  with  such  apparent  grace,  that  the  sons  of  God  are  almost 


THE    HISTORY    OF   MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  275 

deceived  by  his  transformations.  But  let  not  any  one  persuade 
you  to  take  advantage  of  his  services.  Truth.  Margaret,  needs  no 
fiction  to  defend  it ;  for  '  whatsoever  loveth  and  maketh  a  lie  shall 
never  enter  into  the  city  of  truth.'  So  do  not  suffer  any  one  who 
calls  himself  your  friend  to  persuade  you  to  trust  to  fallacies. 
You  know  yourself  guilty.  Conduct  yourself  as  a  person  con- 
scious of  your  guilt  before  God  and  man.  I  shall  not  deceive  you. 
The  penalty  of  your  crime  is  death  ;  and  you  do  not  forget  the 
argument  that  I  used  upon  a  former  occasion,  '  that  if  a  man  owns 
himself  justly  condemned  to  suffer  death,  and  has  mercy  shown 
to  him  by  giving  him  a  lesser  punishment,  his  duty  is  to  suffer 
that  lesser  punishment  with  the  same  resignation  as  he  would 
death.  And  if  he  fail  in  this  duty,  he  justly  deserves  the  former 
punishment.'  So  do  you  justly  deserve  sentence  of  death  for  your 
present  or  late  sin.     And  you  will  be  condemned  to  die  ! 

"  Be  prepared  for  much  severity  at  the  hands  of  your  offended 
judge.  I  say,  be  prepared  ;  for  unless  he  should  know  as  much  of 
you  as  I  do,  he  will  think  you  one  of  the  worst  persons  alive,  and 
therefore  only  fit  to  be  made  a  public  example  of  by  a  violent 
death.  I  know  you,  however,  Margaret ;  and  though  I  believe 
that  if  you  were  now  restored  to  liberty  you  would  be  a  Christian 
servant,  and  never  more  be  a  guilty  slave  of  sin,  yet  your  judge 
cannot  know  this.  Indeed,  scarcely  any  of  the  magistrates  know 
this.  It  is,  therefore,  best  to  be  prepared  for  a  severe  trial.  Do 
not  attempt  to  call  any  one  to  speak  to  your  character.  It  will 
be  of  no  use.  The  representations  made  by  the  magistrates  at  the 
last  assizes  will  be  sufficient  testimony  up  to  that  time  ;  and,  since 
then,  you  cannot  say  that  you  deserve  any  defence.  You  must  not 
expect  any  mercy,  but  prepare  yourself  not  only  to  receive  sentence 
of  death,  but  prepare  yourself  to  die. 

"  If  a  prisoner  who  knows  himself  to  be  guilty  does  not  prepare 
himself  to  die  before  the  sentence  of  death  is  passed  upon  him  his 
is  a  very  dangerous  state,  since  the  period  is  so  short  between  con- 
demnation and  execution  that  he  must  be  very  much  distracted. 

"  You  have  read  through  '  The  Christian's  Consolations  against 
the  Fears  of  Death,'  and  you  tell  me  that  your  mind  has  been 
greatly  strengthened  by  the  piety  expressed  in  this  good  old  book. 
I  agree  with  you  that  it  touches  upon  every  source  of  consolation 
which  a  Christian  man  can  contemplate.  It  meets  almost  every 
case.     But  it  does  not  exactly  contemplate  a  female  convict,  like 

iS 


276  THE  HISTORY  OF   MARGARET  CATCHPOLE. 

yourself ;  and  on  this  account  I  would  add  a  very  few  words  of 
advice  to  you  upon  this  subject. 

"  To  die  a  Christian,  and  as  a  Christian  ought  to  die,  is  to  have 
no  desire  whatever  but  for  the  kingdom  of  God.  You  suffer  justly 
for  your  crimes ;  and  you  must  not  let  any  one  deceive  you  into 
any  false  idea  of  your  own  worthiness  to  live.  The  penitent  male- 
factor on  the  tree  rebuked  the  boldness  of  his  brother,  who  railed 
upon  the  Saviour  of  the  world,  and  used  these  words  of  reproof, 
'  Dost  thou  not  fear  God,  seeing  thou  art  in  the  same  condemna- 
tion ?  And  we  indeed  suffer  justly ;  but  this  man  hath  done  nothing 
amiss.'  Then  he  prefers  that  humble  prayer,  which  should  ever  be 
yours,  Margaret,  up  to  your  latest  moment,  '  Lord,  remember  me 
when  thou  comest  into  Thy  kingdom  ! '  How  infinite  in  mercy 
is  the  Lord  !  How  loving  !  how  pitiful  !  how  generous  to  the  poor 
wretch  at  the  moment  of  his  late  repentance  !  We  cannot  tell, 
Margaret,  how  late  that  repentance  was.  He  might  have  been 
convinced  of  his  guilt  long  before  he  was  lifted  up  to  die.  In 
prison  he  might  have  heard,  as  you  have  done,  of  the  great,  the 
good,  the  only  Christ.  So  that  men  do  wrong  to  take  even  this 
example  for  the  success  of  a  death-bed  repentance  at  the  last  hour. 
We  cannot  tell  when  our  last  hour  maybe.  Our  first  should  be  one 
of  repentance  as  well  as  our  last.  And  the  whole  desire  of  our 
lives  should  be,  to  be  remembered  in  the  kingdom  of  Christ.  The 
blessed  words  of  our  Saviour  must  have  taken  away  the  sting  of 
death  from  the  faithful  heart  of  the  penitent :  i  This  day  shalt  thou 
be  with  Me  in  Paradise.' 

"  I  conceive  that  we  are  justified  in  taking  these  words  to  our 
own  selves  in  our  contemplation  of  death,  and  in  considering  them 
as  the  most  blessed  words  that  can  be  \Tsed,  to  destroy  the  power 
which  the  King  of  Terrors  often  raises  in  the  minds  of  weak  and 
sinful  mortals.  If  you  are  truly  penitent,  justly  sensible  of  all 
your  sins,  and  are  fully  convinced  of  the  meritorious  sacrifice 
which  God  has  once  made  for  your  sins  and  those  of  the  whole 
world,  I  see  no  reason  why  your  faith  should  not  be  so  fully 
fixed  on  these  blessed  words  as  to  let  them  be  the  hope  of  your 
heart.  It  is  almost  impossible  for  the  true  penitent  to  beg  to  be 
remembered  in  the  kingdom  of  Christ  without  experiencing  comfort 
from  the  Saviour's  words,  '  This  day  shalt  thou  be  with  Me  in 
Paradise.' 

u  Death  frees  us  from  the  dominion  of  sin  ;  that  is,  if  we  die 


tMe  history  of  Margaret  caTchpoLE.  277 

in  Christ.  "We  are  then  with  Him  in  Paradise,  in  that  state  of 
innocency  in  which  Adam  was  before  he  was  driven  out  of  the 
Garden  of  Eden .  Our  spirits  know  no  fear,  since  we  are  in  love  ; 
and  c  perfect  love  casts  out  fear,  because  fear  hath  torment.' 

"  Your  judge,  Margaret,  will  probably  tell  you  to  make  good  use 
of  the  short  time  you  have  to  live.  I  not  only  tell  you  this,  that 
you  may  be  fortified  against  your  sentence  of  death,  but  that  you 
may  prepare  yourself  for  entering  upon  another  and  a  better  life. 
I  am  glad  to  find,  by  my  friend  the  chaplain,  that  you  have  diligently 
applied  your  whole  strength  to  the  Word  of  God,  and  have  found 
how  weak,  how  wicked,  how  lost  you  have  been  all  the  days  of 
your  life.  I  hope  to  be  able  to  come  and  see  you,  with  him,  after 
your  return  from  Bury,  and  to  partake  with  you  of  spiritual 
refreshment.  Till  then,  my  poor  servant,  I  can  only  pray  that 
you  may  be  rich  in  grace,  strong  in  faith,  humble  in  heart,  devout 
in  prayer,  lowly  and  contrite  in  spirit,  watchful  against  all  tempta- 
tion, in  love,  in  peace,  in  charity  with  all,  praying  for  all  :  for  your 
judge,  jury,  and  fellow-prisoners. 

"  Oh  that  your  end  may  be  as  you  wish  it,  a  warning  to  all  your 
sex,  and  especially  to  those  in  your  situation  of  life,  never  to  let 
passion  get  the  upper  hand  of  virtuous  principle  !  That  God  may 
fortify  you  with  His  Spirit,  cheer  you  with  His  Word,  and  com- 
fort you  in  death,  is  the  earnest  prayer  of  your  former  mistress 

"  And  present  friend, 

"  Elizabeth  Cobbold. 

"To  Margaret  Catchpole." 

Margaret  fed  upon  the  contents  of  this  letter,  and  followed  the 
advice  given  her  ;  and  with  what  effect  will  be  best  seen  by  the 
account  preserved  of  her  second  trial.  She  went  to  Bury  on  the 
2nd  of  August,  and  on  the  3rd  was  conducted  to  the  same  court, 
and  appeared  before  the  same  judge  as  she  had  done  upon  her 
first  trial  three  years  before. 

The  Lord  Chief  Baron  Sir  Archibald  Macdonald  was  this  time 
accompanied  by  Sir  Beaumont  Hotham.  The  juries  for  the  county 
and  liberty  were  the  following  honourable  gentlemen  : — 

FOR  THE   COUNTY. 

Lord  Viscount  Broome  j  Charles  Berners,  jun.,  Esq.;  B.  G.  Dillingham, 
Esq. ;  P.  J.  Thelluson,  Esq. ;  George  "Wilson,  Esq. ;  Matthias  Kerrison,  Esq. ; 
"Wolfran  Lewis,  Esq. ;    Mileson  Edgar,  Esq.  j  John  Cobbold,  Esq.  j  Edward 


278  THE   HISTORY    OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

Studd,  Esq. ;  Anthony  Collet,  Esq. ;  Joseph  Burch  Smith,  Esq. ;  John  Farr, 
Esq. ;  John  Dresser,  Esq. ;  William  Philpot,  Esq. ;  James  Reeve,  Esq. ; 
Edmund  Barber,  Esq. ;  James  Stuttur,  Esq. 

FOR   THE   LIBERTY. 

Sir  T.  C.  Bunbury,Bart.;  SirT.C.  Cullum,  Bart.;  Sir  Harry  Parker,  Bart. ; 
Barnard  E.  Howard,  Esq. ;  N.  Barnadiston,  Esq. ;  Nathaniel  Lee  Acton,  Esq.  ; 
C.ipel  Lofft,  Esq.  ;  John  Mosley,  Esq.  ;  Joshua  Grigby,  Esq.  ;  William 
Mannock,  Esq.  ;  John  Wastell,  Esq. ;  Robert  Walpole,  Esq.  ;  Richard  Cart- 
wright,  Esq. ;  Thomas  Cocksedge,  Esq. ;  Thomas  Mills,  Esq. ;  James  Oakes, 
Esq.  ;   Thomas  Gery  Cullum,  Esq.  j  Abraham  Reeve,  Esq.  ;  George  Archer, 

Esq. 

William  B.  Rush,  Esq.,  Sheriff. 

The  usual  forms  of  the  court  having  been  gone  through,  Mar- 
garet Catchpole  was  again  placed  at  the  bar.  Margaret  was  dressed, 
as  formerly,  in  a  plain  blue  calico  dress.  She  appeared  pale  and 
thin,  but  perfectly  free  from  any  of  that  emotion  which  she  formerly 
exhibited.  There  was  a  calmness  of  deportment  without  the  least 
obduracy,  and  no  obtrusive  boldness  nor  recklessness.  She  did  not 
look  round  the  court  with  any  of  that  anxiety  she  formerly  ex- 
hibited, as  if  she  wished  to  see  any  one  there  who  knew  her.  She 
knew  that  Will  Laud  was  gone,  and  that  neither  her  father  nor  her 
brother  was  there.  She  was  quite  indifferent  to  the  public  gaze, 
and  with  her  eyes  cast  down  upon  the  bar,  she  saw  not  that  piercing 
glance  which  the  judge  gave  her  as  she  took  her  station  before  him, 
though  every  person  in  court  noticed  it,  and  looked  at  the  prisoner 
to  see  if  she  did  not  quail  before  it. 

The  indictment  having  been  read  aloud,  once  more  the  clerk  of 
the  court  addressed  her  in  these  terms  : — 

"  How  say  you,  prisoner  at  the  bar,  are  you  guilty  or  not 
guilty  1 " 

Margaret  lifted  up  her  dark  eyes  once  more,  and  looking  her  judge 
calmly  in  the  face,  said — 

"  Guilty,  my  lord." 

There  was  a  perfect  stillness  in  that  crowded  court,  while  the 
judge  now  addressed  her  in  the  following  terms  : — 

"I  cannot  address  you,  prisoner  at  the  bar,  in  the  same  strain  I 
formerly  did,  since  I  am  persuaded  that  you  are  hardened  in  your 
iniquity.  I  pitied  you  at  the  time  for  your  youth  :  but  though 
young  in  years,  you  are  old  in  crime.     I  considered  you  then  a 


THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  279 

person  who,  if  you  had  the  chance,  would  form,  for  the  remainder 
of  your  days,  an  estimable  character.  In  this,  however,  I  have 
been  greatly  deceived,  and  I  now  look  upon  you  as  a  person  whom 
I  believe  to  be  dangerous  to  the  morals  of  others,  and  therefore 
unfit  to  live.  You  have  shown  your  sense  of  the  past  mercy  ex- 
tended to  you  by  your  bold  and  daring  conduct  in  breaking  out  of 
prison.  I  had  fully  intended  to  have  obtained  your  discharge  from 
the  Ipswich  gaol  at  these  very  assizes,  had  I  heard  the  good  report 
I  received  last  year  confirmed.  You  may  judge,  then,  of  my 
surprise  and  indignation  when  I  heard  of  your  escape  from  the 
gaoL 

"  So  bold  a  woman  would  make  a  very  bad  companion  for  any 
man.  She  who,  after  receiving  pardon  for  her  past  crimes,  in  the 
merciful  permission  to  live  when  condemned  to  death,  will  again 
be  guilty  of  setting  a  bad  example  to  all,  instead  of  a  good  and 
reformed  one  :  she  who  will  set  at  defiance  the  laws  of  her  country, 
and  be  so  bold  as  to  break  out  of  prison  before  the  period  of  her 
confinement  had  expired,  shows  such  a  disregard  to  all  past  and 
present  mercies  that  she  is  not  worthy  to  live. 

"  You  have,  I  understand,  been  the  occasion  of  sudden  death  to 
one  man,  and  might  have  involved  others  in  your  guilt.  The  turn- 
key of  the  gaol  might  have  been  severely  punished  for  your  delin- 
quency. Your  gaoler,  whose  duty  it  is  to  attend  the  prisoners  to 
Bury,  and  of  whose  absence  you  took  such  a  shameful  advantage, 
might  have  suffered  a  heavy  fine.  You  had  very  nearly  eluded  his 
activity,  and  I  consider  that  great  credit  is  due  to  him  for  the 
manner  in  which  he  recovered  you  and  has  brought  you  to  justice. 
The  magistrates  of  this  county  have  very  properly  applauded  his 
zeal ;  and  I  consider  it  a  fortunate  thing  for  society,  that  you 
are  not  this  moment  at  large  in  any  part  of  his  Majesty's 
dominions. 

"  I  will  not  waste  words  upon  a  person  so  ungrateful  as  you  are. 
What  can  you  possibly  have  to  say  why  sentence  should  not  be 
passed  upon  you  ?  You  may  say  anything  you  have  to  say.  It 
cannot  be  anything  good,  or  in  the  least  mitigate  the  severest 
penalty  of  the  law.  Have  you  anything  to  say,  prisoner  at  the 
bar  ?  * 

There  was  such  a  still  silence  in  the  court  at  this  moment  that 
the  scratch  of  a  pen  might  have  been  heard.  The  barristers  all 
looked  up  at   the  prisoner.     Every  eye  was   fixed   intently  upon 


280  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

her  pale  face,  as  she  looked  up  and  made  such  a  composed  reply 
to  the  Lord  Chief  Baron's  speech,  that  one  of  the  most  eminent 
barristers  of  that  day,  afterwards  as  eminent  as  a  judge,  declared  it 
to  be  the  most  able  and  impressive  he  had  ever,  under  such  circum- 
stances, heard.  She  spoke  with  perfect  ease,  and  apparently 
without  the  slightest  tremor,  and  was  heard  all  over  the  court. 

"  My  lord,  I  fully  expected  that  your  lordship  would  condemn 
me  severely  for  my  present  offence.  I  expected  severity ;  but  I 
did  not  think  that  I  should  receive  the  language  of  judgment 
without  mercy  from  one  whose  former  kindness  touched  my  heart. 
As  to  my  being  a  hardened  offender,  I  humbly  hope  that  in  this 
respect  your  lordship  is  mistaken.  I  have  committed  two  offences 
against  the  laws  of  my  country.  The  first  I  acknowledged,  not 
without  a  sense  of  its  guilt ;  the  second,  when  I  committed  it,  I 
was  quite  unconscious  of  the  light  in  which  the  law  viewed  it,  and 
I  thought  it  no  crime  at  all.  Had  not  the  arguments  of  one  wise 
as  your  lordship,  and  a  far  dearer  friend  to  the  prisoner,  convinced 
me  of  its  enormity,  I  had  this  day  stood  before  the  court  and  felt 
myself  condemned  as  an  innocent  person.  Thank  God,  such  is  not 
the  case  !  and  your  lordship's  accusation  of  my  being  a  hardened 
offender  is  without  foundation. 

"  At  this  moment  of  condemnation  you  refer  to  your  intention 
of  obtaining  my  discharge  at  these  assizes.  At  such  a  time  as  this, 
the  expression  of  such  an  intention  might  have  produced  extreme 
bitterness  in  my  heart,  did  I  not  know,  that  before  the  last  assizes, 
your  lordship  received  a  memorial,  signed  by  all  the  magistrates 
who  visited  the  Ipswich  gaol,  praying  for  my  discharge  on  account 
of  exemplary  conduct  up  to  that  time.  Had  you,  then,  my  lord, 
attended  to  that  prayer,  the  offence  for  which  I  am  now  to  suffer 
the  severity  of  the  law  would  never  have  been  committed,  the  life 
of  the  man  whom  it  was  my  faiJt  to  love  would  have  been  spared, 
and  I  should  not  have  had  the  anguish  of  being  compelled  to  speak 
as  I  now  do,  nor  this  court  the  pain  of  hearing  me.  The  bitterness 
then  which  your  reference  to  my  intended  discharge  would  have 
given  me  must  remain  with  your  lordship,  not  with  me.  You  may 
be  well  assured,  my  lord,  that  I  am  not  hardened,  but  penitent.  In 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye  I  shall  meet  your  lordship  at  the  tribunal 
of  perfect  justice,  where  we  shall  both  be  prisoners  at  that  bar 
where  we  shall  require,  and,  I  hope,  shall  find  mercy. 

(t  You  could  not  imagine  what  I  should  say,  and  what  I  do  say 


THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  28 1 

is  not  meant  as  a  defence  of  my  improper  act,  but  only  in  justice 
to  those  who  may  wish  me '  God  speed '  in  this  court,  and  who 
might  think  from  your  lordship's  language  that  I  was  insensible 
to  their  or  your  lordship's  past  kindness.  The  day  will  come,  and 
not  long  after  my  departure  hence,  when  your  lordship  will  be 
convinced  that  your  opinion,  now  expressed,  was  not  such  as  the 
circumstances  of  my  case  warranted  or  called  for.  Your  lordship 
will  then  clearly  see,  that  through  ignorance,  and  prompted  some- 
what beyond  the  bounds  of  reason  by  the  force  of  gratitude  to  one 
whom  I  too  dearly  loved,  I  was  induced  to  attempt  to  gain  that 
liberty  which  I  then  felt  could  only  be  pleasant  in  his  company. 

"  Your  lordship,  will,  I  hope,  send  me  soon  to  the  enjoyment  of 
a  liberty  with  which  no  laws  of  man  can  interfere.  I  call  no 
persons  to  speak  to  my  character  since  the  period  when  your  lord- 
ship received  the  testimony  of  the  gaoler,  chaplain,  and  magistrates 
of  the  Ipswich  division.  I  humbly  beg  pardon  of  you,  my  lord, 
and  of  all  this  court,  if  I  have  said  anything  which  may  seem  dis- 
respectful to  you  or  any  persons  present ;  and  I  now  await  your 
lordship's  sentence." 

After  Margaret  had  finished  speaking,  all  eyes  were  turned 
towards  the  judge.  The  barristers  who  were  present  whispered 
together,  and  his  lordship  caught  the  sounds  of  words  like  these  : 
"  Admirable  answer  !  "  "  Sensible  speech  ! "  "  Able  reply  !  " 
which  made  the  colour  come  into  his  face,  and  it  required  some 
degree  of  judicial  self-possession  to  disperse  it.  He  soon  resumed, 
however,  his  wonted  dignity  and  calmness,  and  proceeded  to  pass 
sentence  upon  the  prisoner,  prefacing  the  awful  terms  with  these 
words  : — 

"  Prisoner  at  the  bar,  I  am  glad  to  say  that  my  opinion  may  be 
altered  with  regard  to  your  hardened  state  ;  I  may  lament,  also, 
that  the  prayer  of  that  petition  made  in  your  behalf  was  not  sooner 
complied  with,  as  you  expected  it  would  have  been.  This  will  not, 
however,  excuse  your  crime.  It  might  be  sufficient  to  establish 
the  propriety  of  your  conduct  up  to  that  time,  but  your  subsequent 
act  completely  cancelled  that  character.  You  have  artfully  attempted 
to  throw  the  blame,  which  rests  entirely  with  yourself,  upon  me 
as  your  judge."  Here  Margaret  looked  at  him  with  piercing 
scrutiny,  but  uttered  not  a  word.  "He  will  not  blame  himself « 
again  under  similar  circumstances,  having  had  such  occasion  to 
blame  himself  for  too  great  leniency  upon  your  former  trial.     You 


282  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

are  sufficiently  sensible  to  be  aware  of  the  short  time  you  have  to 
live,  and  of  the  necessity  of  making  good  use  of  it.  I  shall  add 
no  more  than  the  judgment  of  this  court,  which  is " 

Here  the  judge  passed  the  sentence  in  the  same  awful  words  as 
he  had  formerly  done. 

There  were  many  in  that  court  who  felt  for  the  prisoner  more 
than  the  finest  eloquence  could  express.  She  received  the  sentence 
without  any  of  those  deep  feelings  which  she  had  formerly  exhi- 
bited ;  she  looked  as  mildly  and  quietly  at  the  judge  as  if  she  had 
only  been  receiving  his  advice ;  she  curtsied  respectfully  to  him 
and  the  court  ;  and  then  she  firmly  receded  from  the  dock,  and 
returned  to  the  care  of  the  gaoler. 

It  was  observed  by  several  persons  of  the  court,  that  the  Lord 
Chief  Baron  did  not  rally  his  wonted  cheerfulness  during  the  suc- 
ceeding business  of  the  day.  Whatever  may  be  said  of  the  habit  of 
sternness  and  indifference  to  the  real  promptings  of  nature,  which 
men  who  administer  the  laws  of  their  country  usually  entertain 
(and  a  judge  is  seldom  guilty  of  any  exhibition  of  human  weakness 
in  the  act  of  condemning  a  fellow-creature  to  death),  yet  Chief 
Baron  Macdonald  most  certainly  did  feel  a  strange  sensation  of 
nervous  sensibility  with  regard  to  the  unfortunate  woman  he  had 
that  day  condemned.  He  was  more  abstracted  and  thoughtful  upon 
her  case  than  upon  any  other  which  came  before  him.  Ho  could 
not  dismiss  it  from  his  mind  with  his  wonted  consciousness  of 
composure.  He  continually  reverted  to  her  extraordinary  character 
whenever  a  pause  in  the  business  of  the  court  afforded  him  an 
opportunity  to  speak  to  the  high  sheriff,  and  he  was  heard  to  say — 

"  I  should  like  to  examine  the  spot  whence  this  wonderful  woman 
effected  her  escape.  The  more  I  think  of  what  I  have  been  told 
of  her,  and  of  what  I  have  heard  from  her  own  lips,  the  more  curious 
I  am  to  inspect  the  gaol.  If  I  have  an  opportunity  before  I  return 
to  town,  I  most  assuredly  will  do  so.  I  wish  I  could  see  that 
woman,  and  be  myself  incog.  I  could  then  judge  of  some  things 
which  appear  to  me  inexplicable  in  such  a  person.  Whence  does 
sho  gain  such  powers  of  speech,  such  simplicity  of  manners,  and 
yet  so  truly  applicable  to  her  situation  ?  There  must  be  mind  and 
instruction  too  !  " 

The  high  sheriff,  who  was  a  man  of  the  most  humane  disposition, 
here  ventured  to  tell  the  judge  that  many  of  the  magistrates  thought 
that  her  life  would  have  been  spared  on  account  of  their  former 


THE   HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  283 

recommendation.  This  was  quite  in  private  conversation,  and 
only  came  to  light  after  the  business  of  the  assizes  was  over.  Let 
whatever  influence  may  have  been  exercised  with  his  lordship  in 
behalf  of  the  prisoner,  or  let  it  have  been  simply  his  own  conviction 
that  mercy  would  not  again  be  unworthily  extended,  before  he  left 
Bury  her  sentence  was  once  more  changed  from  death  to  trans- 
portation. But  this  time  it  was  for  life,  instead  of  for  seven  years 
or  for  any  fixed  period. 

Margaret  received  the  announcement  of  this  change  without  any 
expression  of  joy  for  herself  or  thankfulness  to  her  judge.  She 
regretted  that  she  should  have  to  linger  out  so  many  years  of  her 
existence  in  a  foreign  land,  and  when  told  of  it  as  an  act  of  mercy, 
she  replied,   "  that  it  was  no  mercy  to  her." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

TRANSPORTATION. 


Margaret  returned  to  Ipswich  in  a  very  despondent  state  of  mind ; 
more  so,  to  all  appearance,  than  if  her  sentence  had  not  been 
changed  from  death  to  transportation.  Her  feelings  on  this  point 
are  strikingly  evinced  in  the  following  letter,  which  she  wrote  to 
her  mistress  soon  after  her  return  to  gaol : — 

"Ipswich  Gaol,  August  9th,  1800. 
"  Honoured  Madam,— I  am  returned  from  Bury,  and  I  regret 
to  say  that  I  am  not  to  die  yet.  That  day  is  put  off— perhaps  that 
I  may  be  swallowed  up  by  the  sea,  or  be  eaten  by  the  savages  of 
Botany  Bay.  I  am  to  look  forward  to  years  of  degraded  slavery, 
and  to  be  sent  away  from  my  country  and  my  friends.  I  am  so 
sorrowful,  my  dear  lady,  that  I  require  more  of  your  good  advice 
to  learn  to  live  than  to  learn  to  die.  I  feel,  indeed,  as  if  my  judge 
did  it  to  torment  me,  and  if  I  had  the  opportunity,  I  should  cer- 
tainly tell  him  so.  You  told  me  he  would  be  severe ;  he  was 
bitterly  so,  but  it  made  me  feel  much  less  grateful  to  him  than 
I  did  the  first  time.  Then  I  thought  him  like  you,  dear  lady, 
but  I  see  no  traces  of  that  resemblance  now.  His  words  were 
tormenting,  his  manners  towards  me  tormenting,  and  his  change 
of  sentence  is  tormenting.     I  would  really  have  rather  been  left 


284  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

to  die,  though  by  the  hand  of  the  public  executioner,  than  be  as 
I  am,  soon  to  be  sent  out  of  the  country  to  meet  a  more  miserable 
death.  If  I  never  see  you  more,  I  shall  never  forget  you.  I  told 
the  judge  that  but  for  your  friendship  I  should  not  have  been 
sensible  of  my  sin.  He  called  me  a  hardened  sinner,  and  said  I 
was  not  fit  to  live.  I  wonder,  then,  that  he  did  not  suffer  me  to  die. 
Dear  lady,  I  feel  so  very  low,  that  if  you  do  not  come  and  see 
me  I  shall  be  miserable  indeed.  Do — oh  !  pray  do,  if  you  can  ! 
I  hope  you  are  suffering  less  from  the  effects  of  your  sprain,  and 
that  I  shall  see  you.  Forgive  your  poor  servant's  boldness  and 
seeming  selfishness.  I  pray  earnestly  for  you  and  your  dear 
family.  Oh  that  I  could  see  the  dear  Cliff  again  !  So  happy 
was  I  when  I  first  lived  there,  and  so  should  I  be  now,  could  I 
ever  hope  to  see  you  there  again.  To  be  your  servant  would  be 
something  worth  living  for ;  but  to  be  a  slave  in  a  foreign  land  ! 
Oh  !  my  dear  lady  !  death  would  be  preferable  to 

M  Your  poor  servant, 

"  Margaret  Catchpole. 
"  To  Mrs.  Cobbold, 

"Cliff,  Ipswich." 

Her  letter  was  dated  on  Saturday,  the  9th  August.  It  may  be 
seen  in  the  Ipswich  Journal  of  the  16th  of  August,  a.d.  1800,  that 
the  Lord  Chief  Baron  paid  a  visit  to  the  Ipswich  gaol  on  Tuesday, 
12th  of  August. 

He  arrived  on  the  morning  of  that  day  in  his  carriage,  and  was 
not  personally  known  to  the  turnkey.  He  told  the  man  that  he 
came  purposely  to  inspect  the  gaol,  and  wished  particularly  to  see 
the  spot  where  Margaret  Catchpole  effected  her  escape. 

' '  Did  you  fill  the  office  of  turnkey  at  the  time  ? "  inquired  the 
visitor. 

"  I  did,  sir,"  replied  the  man. 

"  Then  you  had  a  very  narrow  escape  ;  for,  had  I  been  the  judge 
to  have  tried  you,  I  should  have  been  much  inclined  to  have  thought 
you  guilty  of  connivance  in  this  matter." 

"  Then  I  am  very  glad,  sir,  that  you  are  not  a  judge." 

The  Lord  Chief  Baron  did  not  tell  him  at  the  moment  who  he 
was. 

The  turnkey  was  quite  ready  to  show  him  the  way  in  which  the 
escape  had  been  made.     He  set  up  the  frame  exactly  as  he  found 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  28 


3 


it  on  the  day  of  Margaret's  adventure,  and  showed  him  the  very 
crotch  with  which  she  had  fixed  the  line  on  the  chevaux  de  /me. 
The  broken  spike  on  the  roller  was  pointed  out,  and  he  informed 
the  judge  of  the  trousers  and  smock-frock  which  the  prisoner  had 
manufactured  out  of  the  sheets  of  her  bed.  After  having  examined 
minutely  the  place  and  the  frame,  and  having  heard  the  full  report 
of  the  turnkey,  he  again  said — 

"  What  an  artful  woman  she  must  be  to  do  this,  and  to  be  able 
to  deceive  you  in  the  sound  of  her  voice  from  the  adjoining  cell  !  " 

"  Ay,  sir;  and  had  she  not  confessed  this,  I  should  have  been 
puzzled,  up  to  this  hour,  to  account  for  her  getting  out  of  her  cell, 
as  I  swore  that  I  heard  her  answer  from  within,  before  I  locked  the 
door." 

"  She  must  be  a  clever  person." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  believe  she  is.  She  owe3  a  very  great  deal  to  a 
lady  in  this  town,  who  has  taken  great  pains  with  her." 

" So  I  have  heard/'  said  the  stranger.  "I  would  give  something 
to  see  that  lady.  I  understand  she  is  the  wife  of  the  gentleman 
from  whom  she  stole  the  horse." 

"  I  wish  the  lady  might  call  while  you  are  here,  sir.  It  is  not 
unlikely  that  she  may.  Pray,  sir,  were  you  in  court  at  the  time 
of  her  trial  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  was." 

"  Then,  perhaps,  sir,  you  could  tell  us  if  it  be  true  that  she 
answered  the  judge  who  addressed  her  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
confuse  him.  Our  folks  say  that  he  was  completely  set,  and  felt 
so  much  surprised  as  to  be  put  out  by  her  speech.  I  do  not,  of 
course,  know  if  it  be  so,  but  I  heard  two  of  our  visiting  magistrates 
talking  about  it  the  other  day,  and  they  seemed  to  say  as  much 
as  if  it  was  so." 

"  It  did  not  strike  me  to  be  exactly  so.  The  judge  was  cer- 
tainly surprised  at  what  she  said,  but  I  do  not  think  he  was  angry 
with  the  prisoner.     Is  the  woman  in  her  cell  at  this  time  1 " 

"  Yes,  she  is,  sir.1' 

"  Will  you  tell  Mr.  Ripshaw  that  I  should  like  to  examine  all 
the  cells  of  the  prison  1  " 

"Mr.  Ripshaw  is  gone  with  two  prisoners  to  Portsmouth,  sir; 
bat  Mrs.  Ripshaw  is  within,  and  I  can  show  you  the  cells." 

The  Lord  Chief  Baron  followed  the  turnkey  to  the  door  of  the 
governor's  house,  which  was  in  the  centre  of  the  gaol.     At  this 


2&6  THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

moment  the  chaplain,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Sharp,  came  to  pay  his  visit 
to  the  prisoners.  The  gentlemen  were  shown  into  the  parlour, 
where  Mrs.  Ripshaw  sat,  busily  engaged  at  some  of  the  gaol 
accounts. 

The  Lord  Chief  Baron  presented  his  card  to  the  chaplain,  who 
immediately  explained  to  Mrs.  Ripshaw  who  it  was. 

"  I  am  come  purposely  to  inspect  the  gaol,  Mrs.  Ripshaw,  and  I 
wish  to  be  quite  incog,  at  present.  I  have  already  examined  the 
spot  where  that  extraordinary  woman,  Margaret  Catchpole,  effected 
her  escape  ;  and  if  you,  sir,"  addressing  himself  to  the  chaplain, 
"  are  going  to  visit  her,  and  have  no  objection  to  my  accompany- 
ing you,  I  should  like  to  be  brought  in  as  your  friend.  You  need 
not  address  me,  but  I  will  join  you  in  your  duties.  I  wish  to  see 
this  singular  woman,  if  possible,  without  her  recognising  me." 

"  She  is,  indeed,  my  lord,"  replied  the  chaplain,  "  a  most  extra- 
ordinary person.  I  have  found  her,  up  to  this  second  trial,  not 
only  tractable,  but  intelligent  and  attentive  in  the  highest  degree  ; 
but  since  her  return  from  Bury,  she  is  disappointed  and  dissatisfied." 

"  With  what  ?  " 

"  With  her  reprieve  for  transportation." 

"  With  her  reprieve !  Does  the  woman  really  prefer  death  to 
life  ?  " 

"  Your  lordship  will  be  the  best  judge  of  that  by  the  tenor  of 
our  conversation,  if  she  should  not  recognise  your  lordship.  And 
should  she  do  so,  she  would  not  scruple  to  tell  you  plainly  her 
opinion." 

"  I  do  not  think  that  she  can  possibly  recognise  me,  if  I  do  not 
speak  to  her,  and  I  shall  keep  strict  silence,  if  I  can." 

What  a  strange  alteration  do  robes  and  wigs  make  in  the  appear- 
ance of  men  of  the  law  !  Who  could  recognise  the  Lord  Chief 
Baron  of  our  courts  of  law  without  the  robes  of  his  office  ?  Counsel 
are  not  recognised  even  by  their  clients  when  they  first  see  them  in 
their  rooms  without  their  wigs  and  gowns.  No  wonder,  then,  that 
Margaret  Catchpole  should  take  her  judge  for  some  brother  clergy- 
man or  friend  of  the  chaplain's,  when  he  entered  the  cell,  and 
seated  himself  upon  a  chair,  which  the  turnkey  placed  there  for 
him. 

"  Well,  Margaret,"  said  the  chaplain,  "  I  hope  you  are  a  little 
more  reconciled  to  your  prospects  than  you  were  when  I  saw  you 
last." 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  287 

"I  wish  I  could  say  I  am,  sir;  but  my  prospects  look  very 
gloomy,  and  I  feel  a  great  deal  more  anguish  than  if  I  were  going 
to  be  executed." 

"You  ought  not  to  do  so,  Margaret ;  I  consider  it  a  great  mercy 
that  your  life  is  spared." 

"  Spared  !    For  what,  sir  ?    To  drag  on  a  wretched  life  as  a  felon, 
and  to  live  and  die,  no  one  knows  how  or  cares,  and  then  to  lie 
in  a  felon's  grave  in   a  distant  land  !     Here   my  body  would    at 
least  have  soon  rested  beside  my  friends  and  relatives.     My  suffer- 
ings would  have  been  short,  and  I  think  I  should  have  been  happy. 
Oh,  sir  !  pray  forgive  my  poor  broken  heart ;  it  will  give  utterance 
to  the  language  of  lamentation.     Oh  !  that  cruel  judge  !    He  might 
have  let  me  die,  especially  as  the  bitterness  of  death  had  already 
passed  upon  me.     But   he  was   angry  and   displeased   at  me  for 
speaking,  though  he  asked  me  if  I  had  anything  to  say !     So  he 
resolved   that   I   should   suffer   the   most  excruciating  torture  by 
killing  me  by  inches  in  a  foreign  land  !     Is  this  mercy,  Mr.  Sharp  ?  " 
"You  look  upon  this  in  an  unchristian  and  too  gloomy  a  light. 
You   here  attribute  motives   to   your  judge  of   a   very  improper 
kind  ;  such  as  I  am  fully  pursuaded  never  entered  his  mind,  and 
never  were  inmates  of  his  breast.     I  am  pursuaded  his  thoughts 
toward  you  were  those  of  pity  as  well  as  mercy,  and  that  your 
change  of  sentence  was  meant  for  your  good  and  that  of  others. 
You  have  no  right  to  judge  of  his  motives  in  so  unchristian  alight." 
"My  dear  sir,  again  I  say,  pardon  my  speech.     I  speak   as  I 
feel.     Perhaps,  with  your  help,  I  may  feel  differently,  but  I  should 
then  speak  differently.     Could  you,  or  this   gentleman,  feel  as  I 
do,  and  were  either  of  you  placed  in  my  situation,  you  would  think 
and  argue  very  differently  to  what  you  now  do.     You  sit  there, 
both  of  you,   at  liberty  to  move  from  this   place  to  the  happy 
associations  of  kindred,  friends,  and  home.     I  grant  you,  a  return 
to  their  society  sweetens  life,  and  teaches  you  to  bear  your  earthly 
visitations,  whatever  they  may  be,  patiently.     But  let  me  ask  you 
how   you   would,  either  of  you,  like   now  to   be   afflicted  wTith  a 
long,  lingering,  painful,  bodily  disease,  which  permitted  you  only 
a  few  moments'  rest,  and  those  troubled  and  broken,  and  disturbed 
by  horrid  dreams  ;  that,  when  you  awoke  each  day,  it  was  only  to 
a  sense  of  increased  pain  ?     How  would  you  like  years  of  such 
increased   agony  ?     Tell  me,   would    you    not    prefer   a  happier, 
shorter,   and   speedier   termination   of  your  sufferings   than   that 


288  THE   HISTORY  OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

long  distant  one  which  must  come  at  last  after  years  of  weariness 
and  pain  ?  Yet  you  find  fault  with  me  because  I  would  rather 
die  now  than  live  many  years  in  all  the  horrors  of  slavery,  and 
then  die  without  a  friend  near  me  ! " 

"  Still  I  think  you  wrong,  Margaret.  You  seem  to  argue  as  if 
we  had  a  choice  of  our  own  in  these  matters,  and  forget  that  it 
must  be  God's  will,  and  not  our  own,  to  which  we  must  submit." 

"  Is  it  God's  will,  or  is  it  man's  will,  that  I  should  lead  a  life  of 
misery  ?  " 

"  This  question  almost  makes  me  think  you  impious,  Margaret. 
It  is  God's  will  that  you  should  live,  and  I  hope  for  some  good  : 
at  all  events,  it  is  for  some  wise  purpose  of  His  own,  either  that 
you  may  become  an  instrument  of  His  righteousness  or  mercy  in 
His  hands,  or  that  you  may  be  an  example  to  others.  As  to  the 
misery  you  talk  of,  that  will  depend  much  upon  your  own  future 
individual  conduct  and  character.  I  have  heard  that  some  receive 
pardon  in  that  country  for  their  good  conduct,  and  they  settle  in 
the  land  ;  and  instead  of  being  slaves,  they  become  useful  members 
of  society." 

"  That  may  perhaps  be  the  case  with  some,  sir  ;  but  I  am  looking 
at  my  own  present  state,  and  I  cannot  believe  that  my  judge  had 
any  such  mercy  in  his  view  when  he  changed  my  sentence  from 
present  momentary  suffering  to  such  future  wretchedness." 

"  Of  that  you  can  know  nothing,  neither  ought  you  to  take  your 
present  state  as  any  other  than  that  of  God's  decree  by  His  agent, 
the  judge.  How  can  you  ascertain  the  motives  of  any  man's 
heart  ?  I  do  firmly  believe  that  your  judge  decided  most  merci- 
fully and  righteously  in  your  case.  He  might  really  think  that  if 
you  were  removed  from  this  country,  you  might  be  instrumental 
in  doing  much  good.  He  might  hope  that,  under  different  cir- 
cumstances of  life,  from  the  very  natural  force  of  your  character 
taking  another  bias,  you  might  become  a  blessing  to  yourself  and 
others." 

"  And  so,  because  I  yielded  to  temptation  when  I  hpd  so  many 
good  friends  around  me,  he  would  throw  me  into  the  very  midst 
of  temptation,  where  I  have  not  one  friend  to  help  me.  Oh  ! 
Mr.  Sharp,  would  it  not  be  far  better  to  choose  present  release, 
when  such  kind  friends  are  near  me,  than  future  death,  when  no 
comforter  or  friend  can  be  near  ?  " 

"  And  is  not  your  God  near  you,  Margaret,  in  every  place,  unless 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  289 

you  drive  Him  away  by  your  wickedness  ?  But  how  can  you  tell 
that  He  may  not  raise  up  some  benevolent  friend  to  help  you  in 
that  country  to  which  you  are  going  ?  I  hope  for  the  best.  At  all 
events,  you  must  cherish  better  feelings  towards  your  judge  than 
those  you  now  possess,  or  your  state  will  be  dreadful  indeed 
wherever  you  may  be.  You  seem  to  have  forgotten  all  the  Chris- 
tian lessons  which  your  dear  mistress  and  I  have  taken  such  pain3 
to  teach  you." 

"  I  would  not  be  ungrateful,  sir,  though  I  may  now  appear,  as 
I  am,  so  unhappy.  I  will  try  by  prayer  to  conquer  the  prejudice 
you  speak  of.  I  do  suffer  such  extreme  horror  in  my  mind  from 
my  view  of  the  future,  that  there  is  no  rest  for  me  by  night  or 
day.  I  see  nothing  but  chains  and  darkness.  I  think  sometimes 
of  the  long,  long  journey  from  my  native  land,  of  the  dangers  of 
the  sea,  of  the  companions  with  whom  I  may  be  mixed.  I  start 
sometimes  in  my  dreams,  and  fancy  a  great  shark  dashing  at  me 
in  the  waters.  Another  time  I  see  the  native  cannibals  ready  to 
devour  me.  Then  I  think  of  home,  of  you,  sir,  of  dear  Dr.  Steb- 
bing,  of  my  uncle  and  aunt,  and  of  my  dearest  mistress,  and  I  find 
my  prison-pillow  is  wet  with  my  nightly  tears." 

The  tears  started  in  more  eyes  than  her  own,  as  she  spoke,  in 
her  touching  simplicity,  of  these  acute  feelings.  She  suffered 
intensely  ;  and  it  took  many  months  of  rational  and  devout  con- 
versation, on  the  part  of  both  her  mistress  and  this  worthy  man,  to 
eradicate  those  bitter  seeds  of  despair,  and  to  sow  those  of  cheer- 
fulness and  hope.  After  directing  Margaret's  mind  to  Christian 
affairs  the  chaplain  and  the  judge  left  her  cell.  They  conversed 
some  time  upon  her  state  of  mind  and  future  prospects.  The  judge 
declared  that  he  thought  her  one  of  the  most  sensitive  persons  he 
had  ever  seen,  with  a  mind  capable  of  the  highest  cultivation.  He 
left  five  guineas  with  the  chaplain  to  be  laid  out  for  her  benefit.  He 
stated  that  she  would  not,  in  all  probability,  leave  England  till  the 
next  summer,  and  hoped  to  hear  a  better  account  of  her  some 
future  day.  Margaret  was  not  informed  of  the  person  who  had 
visited  her  that  day  with  the  chaplain,  until  she  had  learned  to 
look  upon  him  and  herself  in  a  very  different  light. 

The  Lord  Chief  Baron  visited  all  the  cells  of  the  prison,  and 
expressed  his  approbation  of  the  cleanliness  and  neatness  of  the 
whole  place.  As  he  was  going  away,  he  told  the  turnkey  that  he 
was  the  very  judge  who  had  tried  the  female  prisoner  for  breaking 


29O  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

out  of  gaol.  The  reader  may  imagine  how  frightened  the  poor 
fellow  was  at  his  late  boldness  of  speech.  The  judge  observed  his 
embarrassment,  and  told  him  that  he  had  spoken  nothing  improper  ; 
that  he  had  done  his  duty,  and  deserved  his  thanks. 

"  You  may  tell  your  master,"  he  added,  "  that  I  am  so  well 
satisfied  with  the  appearance  of  all  things  under  his  care,  that  when 
I  return  to  town  I  shall  not  fail  to  give  a  favourable  report  of 
the  state  of  the  gaol  and  of  his  discipline."  He  made  the  turnkey 
a  present,  and  left  the  gaol. 

It  was  not  until  May,  1801,  that  Margaret  Catchpole  was  in- 
formed of  the  day  of  her  departure  for  Botany  Bay.  She  had 
been  instructed  in  many  things  relating  to  the  country  to  which  she 
was  going,  and  her  kind  mistress  had  purchased  an  assortment  of 
useful  articles  for  her  future  employment.  Her  mind  had  been 
gradually  divested  of  its  miserable  horrors,  and  became  fortified 
for  the  occasion.  It  will  be  seen,  however,  that  as  the  near 
approach  of  the  day  came,  she  dreaded  and  lamented  it  bitterly- 
On  the  25th  of  May,  1801,  Mrs.  Cobbold  received  the  following 

note  from  her  : — 

"Irswicir  Gaol, 

"May  25th,  1801. 
"Dear  and  Honoured  Madam, — I  am  sorry  to  have  to  inform 
you  of  the  bad  news.  I  am  going  away  on  Wednesday  next,  or 
Thursday  at  the  latest,  so  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  troubling 
you  with  these  few  lines.  It  will  be  the  last  time  I  shall  ever 
trouble  you  from  this  place  of  sorrowful,  yet,  comparatively  with 
the  future,  blessed  captivity.  My  grief  is  very  great,  now  that  I 
am  really  on  the  eve  of  banishment  from  my  own  country  and 
from  all  my  dearest  friends  for  ever.  It  was  hard  for  me  ever 
to  think  of  it.  Oh !  what  must  it  be  to  endure  it !  Honoured 
madam,  it  would  give  me  some  happiness  to  see  you  once  more, 
on  the  Tuesday  previous  to  my  leaving  England  for  ever,  if  you 
will  not  think  this  request  of  mine  too  troublesome.  I  know  your 
kind  heart.  I  would  spare  you  any  anxiety  about  so  unworthy  a 
person  as  myself,  but  I  must  entreat  your  goodness  to  consider  me 
in  this  my  severest  misery.  Have  pity  upon  me  !  Oh  !  do  come  ! 
Only  let  me  see  your  dear  face  once  more,  and  it  will  ever  be  a 
comfort  and  satisfaction  to  your  poor  unhappy  servant, 

*' Margaret  Catchpole. 
«4  To  Mes.  Cobbold, 

"Cliff,  Ispwich." 


The  history  of  Margaret  catchpolE.  291 

On  Tuesday,  the  26th  of  May,  this  benevolent  lady  paid  poor 
Margaret  her  last  visit.  She  felt  that  it  would  be  the  last  time 
she  should  ever  see  her  in  this  world.  It  was  a  painful  interview, 
and  one  that  she  would  have  spared  herself,  had  it  not  been  for 
the  hope  of  comforting  the  mind  of  her  disconsolate  servant.  She 
found  her  seated  upon  the  chest  which  she  had  sent  her  from  the 
Cliff  a  few  days  before.  Her  eye3  were  swollen  with  weeping  ; 
and,  as  she  rose  to  meet  her  beloved  mistress,  she  trembled  and 
tottered  from  the  weakness  of  agitation.  Her  mistress  gently 
seated  her  again,  and  took  her  seat  beside  her. 

"  Oh  !  my  dear  lady  !  "  she  began,  "  my  time  is  come,  and  I  feel 
just  as  if  my  heart  would  burst.  Surely  this  must  be  worse  than 
death  I  " 

"  Do  not  say  so,  Margaret.  Remember  all  the  advice  I  have 
given  you,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  you  will  find  yourself 
rewarded  with  different  treatment  to  that  which  you  expect." 

M  But  I  shall  never  see  you  nor  any  of  my  dear  friends  again. 
This  is  my  sorrow." 

"  But  we  shall  hear  from  you  often,  Margaret." 

"  And  shall  I  hear  from  you,  dear  lady  ?  Will  you  remember 
me  ?  Will  you  not  forget  your  poor  servant  ?  Oh !  she  will  never 
forget  you,  never  cease  to  bless  you  !  " 

"  I  will  write  to  you,  Margaret,  as  soon  as  I  hear  of  your  arrival." 

"  Bless  you,  dear  lady  !  God  bless  you  !  But  when  I  look  at 
you,  and  think  of  your  dear  face,  it  is  like  the  sun  for  ever  hidden 
from  my  sight  when  you  leave  me." 

"The  same  sun,  Margaret,  will  shine  upon  us  both.  He  will 
visit  you  while  I  am  asleep,  and  me  when  you  are  at  rest.  The 
same  God  Who  causes  him  to  shine  upon  us  all  will  be,  as  he  is, 
alike  merciful  to  us  both,  though  we  live  in  different  lands.  Let 
me  entreat  you,  as  my  last  solemn  injunction,  never  to  forget  your 
duty  to  Him.  Read  your  Bible  whenever  you  can.  You  will  havo 
much  time  and  opportunity  upon  your  voyage,  and  I  hope  you  will 
employ  them  to  the  best  purposes.  You  will  find  in  your  chest 
many  good  books.     They  will  be  a  great  source  of  comfort  to  you." 

"  Oh  !  that  I  will,  dear  lady  !  and  when  I  think  of  you  who  gave 

them  to  me,  and  of  the  dear  friends  who  have  visited  me,  and  of 

that   good  lady  you   introduced   to   my  cell,  Mrs.   Sleorgin,   who 

brought  me  yesterday  this  packet  of  books,  oh  !  how  dearly  shall 

I  desire  to  see  you  and  them  !  " 

19 


292  THE  HISTORY  OF  MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

"  Think,  too,  Margaret,  what  pleasure  it  will  give  us  all  to  hear 
that  you  are  doing  well,  that  all  the  instructions  of  your  kind 
friends  have  not  failed.  You  will  be  able  to  add  to  my  knowledge 
many  things  of  which  I  have  at  present  very  imperfect  information. 
You  will  inform  me  of  the  state  of  that  new  country.  Surely  this 
will  give  you  some  pleasure,  and  profit  me  also." 

"  Dear  lady  !  you  are  so  good  !  You  make  me  almost  wish  to 
live,  if  only  for  the  pleasure  of  serving  you.  If  it  were  but  per- 
mitted me  to  come  to  England  once  more,  I  do  think  my  journey 
would  seem  nothing  to  me.  It  looks  such  a  dreary  prospect  to  be 
deprived  of  all  whom  we  love,  that  I  feel  faint  at  the  idea  of  lone- 
liness in  a  foreign  land." 

"  Exercise  your  faith,  Margaret,  and  you  will  never  be  alone. 
All  lands  will  be  pleasant  to  you." 

"  None  so  pleasant  as  my  own  :  but  I  will  try,  I  do  try,  I  will 
hope.  You  are  so  kind  to  me,  my  dear  mistress  !  Give  my  duty 
to  my  good  master  ;  my  love  to  all  the  dear,  dear  children.  Oh ! 
forgive  me,  my  dear  lady  !    I  cannot  help  crying  ;  tears  do  me  good." 

Those  friends  (for  so  in  spite  of  the  difference  in  their  station 
and  their  character,  we  must  venture  to  call  them)  parted  from 
each  other  for  the  last  time  on  earth  ;  but  they  lived  to  correspond, 
by  letter,  for  many  years  after,  and  both  felt  an  increased  interest 
for  each  other's  happiness. 

The  hour  of  Margaret's  departure  arrived.  The  worthy  chaplain 
was  the  last  person  whom  Margaret  saw  in  the  cell  of  her  prison. 
Her  Uncle  and  Aunt  Leader  saw  her  the  day  before.  The  worthy 
chaplain  presented  her  with  the  remainder  of  the  judge's  present. 
She  had  long  learned  to  look  upon  his  sentence  in  a  different  light 
to  that  in  which  she  had  once  viewed  it  ;  and  now,  with  feelings 
greatly  subdued,  she  knelt  with  the  good  chaplain,  and  prayed 
earnestly  that  she  might  never  forget  the  lessons  he  had  given  her. 
She  prayed  fervently  for  pardon  for  all  her  sins,  and  that  she  might 
for  ever  leave  them  behind  her,  and  thenceforth  lead  a  new  and 
better  life.     Then,  turning  to  Mr.  Sharp,  she  said — 

"  One  favour  more,  sir  :  your  blessing." 

"  May  God  bless  you,  Margaret,"  said  the  good  chaplain,  "  and 
make  you,  for  the  remainder  of  your  days,  an  instrument  of  good, 
to  His  own  glory  and  the  benefit  of  your  fellow-creatures  !  Amen. 
Farewell." 

On  "Wednesday,  May  27th,  Mr.  Ripshaw  left  Ipswich  with  three 


THE   HISTORY    OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  293 

female  prisoners  in  his  charge,  Margaret  Catchpole,  Elizabeth 
Killet,  and  Elizabeth  Barker.  He  took  them  to  Portsmouth,  and 
saw  them  safe  on  board  the  convict-ship,  bound  for  Botany  Bay. 

Margaret  had  not  left  the  New  Gaol  two  hours  before  the  turnkey 
was  summoned  to  the  lodge,  and  opened  the  door  to  a  tall,  thin 
man,  dressed  in  the  poorest  garb,  who,  with  a  voice  soft  and  gentle, 
meek  and  melancholy,  requested  to  see  Margaret  Catchpole. 

"  She  is  just  departed  with  the  governor  for  Portsmouth.  "Who 
are  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  her  brother.  My  misfortunes  are  indeed  heavy  :  I  am 
just  returned  from  India.  I  find  my  father  gone,  my  brothers  gone, 
and  this  my  only  sister,  worse  than  all  !  Oh  bitter  cup !  gone  in 
disgrace  from  the  country  !  " 

"  Pray  walk  this  way.  I  will  introduce  you  to  our  chaplain, 
and  some  consolation  may  be  found  for  you." 

The  melancholy  truth  was  soon  explained.  Charles  Catchpole, 
alias  Jacob  Dedham,  alias  Caulins  Jaun,  the  spy,  whom  the  reader 
may  recognise  as  mentioned  in  a  former  part  of  this  history, 
returned  to  his  native  country  literally  a  beggar.  He  went  out  to 
India,  and,  upon  his  arrival  in  that  country,  his  friend,  Lord  Corn- 
wallis,  had  resigned  his  high  office,  and  returned  to  England.  The 
account  he  gave  of  himself  was  singularly  eventful.  He  assumed 
the  appearance  of  a  native  chief,  joined  some  of  the  roving  tribes 
of  warlike  adventurers,  and  became  a  conspicuous  character.  He 
fell  in  love  with  a  nabob's  daughter,  and  married  her  according 
to  the  national  customs  and  ceremonies  ;  but  this  ill-assorted  match 
did  not  long  prosper  His  origin  and  connection  with  the  English 
were  discovered,  and  the  spy  had  to  fly  the  country  for  his  life. 
He  escaped,  gained  his  passage  home,  and  had  spent  his  last  shilling 
in  the  very  public -house  at  St.  Mary  Elms  where  he  received  his 
first  as  an  enlisted  recruit.  His  case  was  that  day  mentioned  to 
several  individuals,  amongst  others  to  Edward  Bacon,  Esq.,  who 
had  spent  many  years  in  India,  who  pronounced  him  no  impostor. 
He  employed  him  many  days  in  taking  a  view  of  Ipswich  and  its 
environs,  which  he  did  with  extraordinary  accuracy,  from  Savage's 
windmill  on  Stoke  Hills.  This  view  was  presented  by  that  gentle- 
man to  the  author  of  these  pages,  and  it  presents  all  the  striking 
accuracy  and  patient  persevering  characteristics  of  a  self-taught 
artist. 

By  his  own  industry,  and  the  generosity  of  others,  he  gained  a 


294  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

few  pounds,  with  which  he  determined  to  settle  in  one  of  the 
colonies.  He  obtained  a  passage  to  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  ;  but 
the  poor  fellow  met  with  a  severe  accident  in  falling  down  the  hold 
of  the  vessel,  broke  his  back,  and  died  upon  the  passage. 

Thus  ended  the  career  of  Margaret  Catchpole  in  England,  where 
her  virtues  will  long  be  remembered,  together  with  her  crimes. 
What  remains  of  her  history  will  serve  to  show  what  fruits  may 
be  gathered  from  a  faithful  spirit,  a  good  heart,  a  high  courage, 
and  a  strong  understanding,  when  disciplined  in  the  school  of 
adversity,  and  under  the  guidance  of  good  principles,  seasonably 
instilled  by  kind  and  judicious  monitors.  It  will  be  seen  that  her 
chief  temptation  having  been  mercifully  removed,  a  true  repentance, 
and  an  entire  alteration  of  life  and  character,  entitled  her  to  the 
full  forgiveness,  and  even  approbation,  of  her  fellow-creatures. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

BANISHMENT. 


TnE  first  news  which  reached  England  concerning  Margaret  was 
contained  in  a  letter  written  by  herself,  by  which  it  appears  she 
had  obtained  a  situation  at  the  Orphan  Asylum  ;  and,  as  it  will 
best  explain  her  feelings  and  situation  at  that  time,  the  reader  shall 
be  furnished  with  a  copy  of  it.  The  sheet  upon  which  it  is  written 
contains  two  letters  ;  one  to  her  mistress,  directed  to  her  master  ; 

the  other  to  Dr.  Stebbing. 

"Sydney,  Jan.  21st,  1802. 

"  Honoured  Madam, — With  pleasure  I  cannot  describe,   I  am 

permitted  to  take  up  my  pen  and  write  to  you,  to  acquaint  you 

with  my  arrival  in  safety  at  Port  Jackson,  Sydney,  New  South 

Wales,  on  December  20th,  1801.     As  I  left  the  ship,  and  was  about 

to  be  landed,  the  shore,  as  I  approached  it,  put  me  very  much  in 

mind  of  the  Cliff  on  the  banks  of  the  river  Orwell.     The  houses, 

backed  by  the  hills,  so  much  resembled  that  happy  spot,  that  it 

put  me  in  good  spirits  ;  and  had  I  but  seen  your  smile  to  welcome 

me,  I  should  have  been  happy  indeed.     But  I  thought  of  you,  of 

your  prayers,  your  advice,  your  kindness  and  consolation  ;   and 

when  I  saw  land  so  much  like  my  own  dear  native  home,  I  really 

felt  as  if  I  was  not  entirely  banished  from  old  England. 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  295 

u  Your  advice  relative  to  my  conduct  on  board  the  convict-ship, 
was  strictly  followed  ;  and  every  morning  I  prayed  that  I  might 
keep  it,  and  every  evening  I  thanked  God  for  His  help.  I  had 
much  influence  with  the  female  convicts  who  came  out  with  me, 
and  prevented  many  murmurs  and  one  outbreak  among  them.  So 
that,  you  see,  dear  lady,  others  reaped  the  benefit  of  your  instruc- 
tions as  well  as  myself. 

"  Captain  Sumpter  gave  me  a  good  character  to  the  governor  ; 
so  that  I  was  not  two  days  upon  the  stores,  but  was  taken  off  them 
by  Mr.  John  Palmer,  a  gentleman  of  the  highest  respectability 
in  the  colony.  He  came  out  as  purser  in  the  Sirius,  with  Captain 
Arthur  Phillip  and  Captain  John  Hunter,  in  January,  1787.  Cap- 
tain Phillip  was  the  first  governor  of  this  place.  Mrs.  Palmer  is 
very  kind  to  me,  and  is  as  benevolent  as  yourself.  She  is  a  niece 
of  a  famous  physician  in  London,  Sir  William  Blizzard  ;  and  she 
says,  dear  lady,  that  she  has  heard  her  uncle  speak  of  you.  Only 
think  that  I  should  be  so  fortunate  as  to  find  a  good  mistress, 
who  had  some  knowledge  of  you,  even  in  this  distant  land  !  I  feel 
this  a  great  blessing. 

"After  the  loss  of  the  Sirius,  on  a  reef  off  Norfolk  Island,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Palmer  undertook  the  management  of  the  Female  Orphan 
Asylum.  This  institution  was  established  by  Governor  King,  who 
purchased,  for  the  residence  of  my  master  and  mistress,  the  elegant 
house  in  which  they  now  live,  of  Lieutenant  Kent,  who  returned 
to  England  two  years  since  in  the  Buffalo.  He  had  built  it  entirely 
at  his  own  expense,  but  he  found  that  the  country  did  not  agree 
with  him. 

"  You  know,  my  dear  lady,  how  fond  I  always  was  of  children, 
and  here  I  have  many  cheerful  young  faces  around  me.  We  have 
already  sixty  female  children,  who  are  taken  as  good  care  of  as  if 
they  were  all  one  family  belonging  to  Mrs.  Palmer.  So  you  see 
how  happily  I  am  employed.  Have  I  not  reason  to  be  thankful  to 
God  for  His  great  mercies  to  so  unworthy  a  creature  as  myself  ? 
I  know  you  will  rejoice  to  hear  of  my  situation.  You  desired  me 
to  write  anything  I  could  for  your  instruction.  I  wish  my  oppor- 
tunities were  greater,  that  my  letter  might  be  more  entertaining  ; 
but  Mrs.  Palmer  has  offorded  me  some  facilities,  and  I  hope,  when 
I  write  again,  to  give  you  the  benefit  of  them. 

"  This  country  is  much  more  like  England  than  I  expected  to 
find  it.     Garden-stuff  of  all  kinds,  except  gooseberries,  and  currants, 


296  THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

and  apples,  are  abundant.  The  gardens,  too,  are  remarkably  beau- 
tiful ;  the  geraniums  run  up  seven  or  eight  feet  in  height,  and  look 
more  magnificent  than  those  which  I  used  to  see  in  your  own 
greenhouse.  The  country  is  very  woody,  so  that  I  cannot  go  out 
any  distance  from  Sydney  without  travelling  through  woods  for 
miles.  They  are  many  of  them  very  picturesque,  and  quite  alive 
with  birds,  of  such  exquisite  plumage  that  the  eye  is  constantly 
dazzled  by  them. 

"  I  assure  you,  my  dear  lady,  that,  in  taking  a  ramble  through 
them  with  my  mistress  and  some  of  the  elder  orphans,  I  felt  just 
as  I  imagine  your  own  dear  children  used  to  feel  when  they 
walked  with  me  to  the  Grove  near  Hog  Island,  I  was  so  pleased 
with  the  birds,  and  trees,  and  flowers.  I  only  wish  I  could 
send  you  one  of  the  beautiful  parrots  of  this  country,  but  I 
have  no  means  of  so  doing  at  present,  as  my  money  is  all  laid  out 
for  my  future  benefit.  I  have  no  money  given  to  me  for  wages. 
I  have  board  and  lodging  ;  and,  if  I  conduct  myself  well,  Mrs. 
Palmer  says  she  will  lay  up  a  little  store  against  the  day  of  my 
emancipation  or  my  marriage.  With  God's  help,  in  Whom  I  trust, 
I  am  determined  to  be  independent  of  all  men.  I  have  no  desire 
to  be  married  and  settled,  as  some  people  seem  to  say  I  shall 
be.  I  have  no  wish  of  the  kind,  neither  do  I  now  nor  do  I  hope 
to  desire  any  better  situation  than  that  I  now  enjoy,  unless  it 
were  a  return  to  England. 

/  u  I  grieve  to  say,  my  dear  lady,  that  this  is  one  of  the  wickedest 
places  in  the  world.  I  never  heard  of  one,  excepting  those  of 
Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  which  could  come  up  to  it  in  evil  practices. 
People  are  so  bold,  so  shameless,  and  so  sinful,  that  even  crime 
is  as  familiar  as  fashion  in  England.  Religion  is  the  last  thing 
thought  of,  even  by  the  Government,  which  sends  out  criminals 
that  most  want  it.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Johnson,  who  is  almost  the  only 
clergyman  in  the  whole  country,  comes  frequently  to  the  Foundling 
Asylum  ;  but  he  tells  my  mistress  that  the  town  of  Sydney  is  like 
a  place  of  demons.  Government  is  at  great  expense  in  the  police 
establishment,  to  keep  our  poor  bodies  in  subjection  ;  but  I  am 
sure,  if  our  souls  were  but  a  little  more  thought  of,  Government 
would  have  many  thousand  times  better  subjects. 

"Is  it  not  dreadful,  dear  lady,  that  in  such  a  country  as  this  so 
many  souls  should  utterly  perish  ?  Surely  it  will  never  be  blessed 
with  the  blessing  from  Heaven,  until  God  shall  induce  our  Govern- 


THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  297 

merit  to  send  us  out  some  able  ministers  of  the  Gospel.  I  wilj 
write  more  upon  this  subject  at  another  time.  I  trust  in  God, 
Who  has  brought  me  over  the  broad  sea,  that  He  will  keep  me 
from  all  evil  upon  this  wide  land. 

"The  wheat  harvest  was  almost  over  when  I  landed.  Wheat  is 
here  eight  shillings  per  bushel  at  this  time.  There  are  two  crops, 
I  understand,  each  summer,  one  of  wheat  and  another  of  Indian 
corn.  I  am  told  that  the  winter  is  very  short  ;  I  cannot  give  you 
any  certain  information  yet,  as  I  have  been  only  one  month  in  the 
country.  This  letter,  for  the  same  reason,  will  be  but  a  poor  one  ; 
my  next  will,  I  hope,  be  more  worthy  your  perusal.  I  will  make 
minutes,  according  to  your  wishes,  of  all  things  which  come  under 
my  observation.  Never,  never,  my  dearest  lady,  shall  I  forget  your 
goodness  to  me,  and  especially  on  the  last  day  before  1  left  Ipswich. 

"  All  the  things  you  gave  me  arrived  in  safety  with  me,  and  are 
of  great  service  to  me.  Oh  !  how  I  wish  that  many  poor  creatures, 
whom  I  see  around  me,  had  some  of  the  blessings  which  I  have  ! 
There  are  some  who  have  been  here  for  years,  who  have  their  poor 
heads  shaved,  and  are  sent  up  the  Coal  River.  They  have  to  carry 
coals  from  daylight  until  dark.  They  are  badly  fed ;  and  though 
very  bad  men,  who  actually  sell  their  rations  of  bread  for  three 
days  for  a  little  rum,  yet  they  ought  not  to  be  left  without  instruc- 
tion, as  they  totally  are,  until  they  perish. 

"Norfolk  Island  is  a  terrible  place  to  be  sent  to.  Those  only 
who  are  incorrigible  are  sent  to  this  place,  with  a  steel  collar  round 
their  necks,  to  work  in  gangs. 

"  I  have  no  Government  work  to  do ;  nor  has  the  officer  of 
Government  anything  to  do  with  me.  When  there  is  a  general 
muster  of  the  convicts,  then  only  I  shall  have  to  appear,  and  give 
account  of  myself.  Some  days  I  am  permitted  to  go  and  see  a 
friend  at  a  distance,  if  I  have  any,  either  at  Paramatta,  twenty 
miles,  Gabley,  thirty,  or  Hawkesbury,  forty  miles  from  Sydney  ; 
but  then  I  shall  have  to  get  a  passport,  or  I  should  be  taken  up, 
and  put  into  prison  as  a  runaway.  A  very  little  will  get  a  person 
into  prison  here  ;  but  it  requires  a  great  deal  of  interest  to  get  him 
out  again. 

"  I  want  to  say  a  great  deal  more,  but  time  will  not  permit  me, 
for  I  expect  the  ship  to  sail  very  soon.  I  have  been  very  ill  since 
I  came  on  shore.  At  one  time  I  was  thought  to  be  dying  ;  but 
by  the  blessing  of  God  and  the  attentions  of  my  mistress,  I  am 


29N  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

now  strong  again.  I  was  very  well  during  my  whole  voyage,  though 
we  were  tossed  about  tremendously  in  the  Bay  of  Biscay.  I  was 
very  glad  to  see  land,  after  so  many  months'  confinement ;  yet  1 
should  not  mind  just  such  another  voyage  at  this  moment,  if  it 
were  but  to  bring  me  back  again  to  dear  old  England  I  cannot 
say  yet  that  I  like  this  country,  or  that  I  think  I  ever  shall :  God 
only  knows.  The  governor  has  a  great  many  very  beautiful  cows, 
and  so  has  Mr.  Palmer,  who  is  very  partial  to  agricultural  pursuits. 
There  are  a  great  many  horses  at  Sydney,  and  some  very  neat 
whiskeys  and  little  clay-carts.  There  are  a  great  many  passage- 
boats,  but  all  numbered  and  registered,  and  secured,  lest  the 
convicts  should  use  them  to  attempt  their  escape. 

"Pray,  my  dear  madam,  let  good  Doctor  Stebbing  have  the 
other  side  of  this  sheet.  I  hope  this  will  find  you  and  all  your 
good  family  well.  Pray,  my  dear  lady,  do  not  forget  your  promise 
of  writing  to  me  by  the  first  transport-ship  that  comes  out ;  and 
direct  to  me  at  Mr.  Palmer's,  Female  Orphan  Asylum,  Sydney  ; 
and  with  deep  love  to  all  my  friends,  I  remain 

"  Your  servant, 

"Margaret  Catchpole." 

The  following  is  her  letter  to  Dr.  Stebbing,  written  on  the  same 
sheet  of  paper  : — 

"  Dear  Sir, — This  is  to  acquaint  you  with  our  safe  landing  at 
Sydney  on  December  20th,  and  that  we  all  arrived  in  good  health. 
Barker  bore  the  voyage  the  worst  of  the  whole,  and  was  so  terrified 
at  the  sea  that  she  could  scarcely  bear  to  look  at  it ;  and  when- 
ever it  was  rough  she  would  never  be  persuaded  to  come  on  deck. 
She  used  frequently  to  cry  out  that  she  wished  you  were  near  her. 
She  is  just  the  same  as  ever,  now  she  is  on  land  :  I  regret  to  say, 
no  better.  Elizabeth  Killet  lives  very  near  to  me,  and  is  very  well. 
She  and  I  were  both,  taken  off  the  stores  on  the  same  day.  We 
have  not  to  go  to  Government  work,  as  the  »horses  do  ;  but  we 
have  both  obtained  respectable  places,  and  I  hope  we  shall  con- 
tinue in  them. 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  that  Barker  has  to  spin  for  Government,  her 
character  not  being  such  as  to  deserve  a  good  report :  she  is  still 
upon  the  stores.  But  she  can  get  her  stint  of  work  done  by  one 
o'clock  if  she  chooses  to  work  hard  at  it,  and  then  her  time  is 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  299 

her  own  till  six.  Pray,  sir,  give  my  kind  remembrances  to  all 
my  fellow-prisoners,  and  tell  any  of  them  that  may  be  sentenced 
to  come  out  to  this  country  not  to  be  dead-hearted,  as  I  was, 
about  Botany  Bay  ;  for  if  they  are  sent  out,  and  will  only  conduct 
themselves  well,  they  will  be  better  off  than  in  prison. 

"  The  greater  part  of  this  country  is  not  yet  explored  ;  and  if 
inhabited,  it  is  by  natives  of  a  very  low  caste  and  hideous  features. 
Those  that  I  have  already  seen  are  of  a  very  ferocious  aspect. 
They  carry  along  with  them  spears  of  great  length,  made  of  hard 
wood,  and  a  sort  of  hatchet,  made  of  bone,  stone,  or  very  hard 
wood.  They  look  half-starved,  and  have  very  long,  lank  visages, 
most  hideously  distorted  by  various  customs  ;  such  as  knocking  out 
a  front  tooth  to  denote  their  arrival  at  manhood,  painting  their 
brows,  and  putting  quills  through  the  cartilage  which  separates 
the  nostrils  of  their  wide-distended  noses. 

"Their  females,  I  am  told,  are  in  a  very  degraded  condition, 
and  are  generally  stolen  from  other  tribes,  and  brutally  treated, 
being  beaten  into  immediate  subjection  by  their  husbands,  who 
steal  them.  The  men  seem  to  me  a  very  subtle  race.  If  they 
meet  an  unarmed  white  man  at  a  distance  from  home,  they  will 
spear  and  rob  him.  They  behave  themselves  well  enough  when 
they  come  into  the  town,  and  visit,  as  they  do  sometimes,  the 
Female  Orphan  Asylum,  where  I  live.  If  they  did  not  they 
would  soon  be  punished  ;  still  they  are  very  sly  and  treacherous, 
and  can  take  up  things  with  their  long  toes  as  easily  a3  we  do  the 
same  with  our  hands. 

"  They  often  have  a  grand  fight  among  themselves,  either  to 
gratify  their  leader  or  to  settle  some  dispute  between  the  tribes. 
Twenty  or  thirty  join  in  the  fight,  whilst  all  the  others  look  on,  as 
if  it  was  only  a  game  of  play  ;  but  some  of  them  are  sure  to  be 
killed.  There  is  nothing  said  or  done  to  them  for  killing  each 
other  in  this  manner.     What  horrible  barbarians  they  must  be ! 

11  The  crops  of  wheat  are  very  good  in  this  country.  Forty 
bushels  per  acre  are  commonly  grown  ;  it  is  a  very  fertile  place, 
and  fruitful  in  every  respect.  I  will  write  more  fully  of  the  country 
another  time.  Population  increases  rapidily.  Some  things,  winch 
we  cannot  obtain,  are  very  dear  :  tea  is  25s.  per  pound  ;  sugar,  2s.  ; 
salt  beef,  Is.  ;  and  mutton,  2s.  per  pound.  A  pair  of  shoes,  15s.  ; 
10s.  a  pair  of  stockings  ;  5s.  for  a  yard  of  common  print ;  calico, 
3s.  per  yard  ;  soap,  3s.  per  pound  ;  onions,  Gd.  per  pound  ;  potatoes, 


300  THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

2d.  per  pound  ;  a  cabbage,  6d.  ;  rum,  5s.  per  bottle  ;  a  quart  of 
porter,  2s.  Fish  is  as  cheap  as  anything  we  can  buy;  but  we 
have  no  money  here  to  trade  with. 

"  Pray,  my  dear  sir,  remember  me  to  Mrs.  Ripshaw,  and  tell  her 
that  one  of  Mr.  Ripshaw's  daughters,  who  lives  up  in  the  country 
here,  paid  a  visit  to  the  Orphan  Asylum  last  week.  She  asked  me, 
when  she  heard  my  voice,  if  I  was  not  a  Suffolk  woman.  This 
led  to  my  knowledge  of  her  being  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Ripshaw's 
first  wife.  Pray  write  to  me  as  soon  as  you  can.  I  shall  never 
forget  your  goodness  to  me,  from  the  day  I  rode  the  pony  to  your 
door  till  the  day  I  left  Ipswich.  I  shall  never  forget  your  dear 
daughter,  so  clever,  so  kind  to  every  one.  Remember  me  to  your 
faithful  servant,  who  was  such  a  friend  to  me,  and  give  my  duty  to 
all  inquiring  friends.  We  had  not  a  single  death  in  our  ship, 
though  we  had  near  two  hundred  females  on  board. 

"Just  as  I  am  writing  this  a  messenger  has  came  flying  into 
the  town  to  say  that  the  Blacks  have  killed  eight  men,  women,  and 
children.  One  man's  arms  they  have  cut,  and  broken  his  bones, 
and  have  done  the  same  by  his  legs  up  to  his  knees.  The  poor 
fellow  is  just  now  carried  past  to  the  hospital,  but  he  looked  more 
dead  than  alive,  and  death  would  be  a  blessing  to  him.  The 
governor  has  sent  out  troops  after  them  with  orders  to  shoot  all 
they  can  find.  I  hope  I  may  be  able  to  give  you  a  better  account 
of  the  natives  when  I  write  again.  Pray  send  me  word  if  you 
know  where  Dinah  Parker  and  her  child  were  sent  to.  Give  my 
love  to  my  Uncle  and  Aunt  Leader.  My  brother  Edward  should 
not  have  deserted  me  ;  I  always  loved  him  affectionately.  God 
bles3  you,  dear  doctor,  and  direct  your  letter  to  me  at  Mr.  John 
Palmer's,  Female  Orphan  Asylum,  Sydney ;  and  ever  think  of  me 
as  your  faithful  and  humble  servant. 

"Margaret  Catchpolb. 

"  To  John  Cobbold,  Esq., 
"Cliff,  Ipswich, 

"  Favoured  by  Captain  Sumpter." 

By  her  good  conduct  in  her  new  situation  as  cook  and  superin- 
tendent over  the  dairy  of  Mr.  John  Palmer,  she  was  found  to  be  a 
very  useful  and  confidential  person,  and  was  soon  looked  upon  as 
likely  to  be  a  very  valuable  wife  for  a  free  settler.  Her  fondness 
for  children,  and  her  management  of  them,  came  under  the  parti- 
cular notice  of  Mrs.  Palmer,  who,  without  any  family  of  her  own, 


THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  301 

had  from  the  most  humane  and  benevolent  motives,  undertaken 
the  entire  management  of  the  Orphan  Asylum.  She  found  Margaret 
as  willing  and  as  well  qualified  an  assistant  as  she  could  wish  for. 

This  school  was  founded  in  the  year  1800,  by  Governor  King.  It 
was  for  sixty  female  orphans.  A  grant  of  15,000  acres  of  land  was 
given  to  this  foundation  for  the  maintenance  and  support  of  the 
children.  They  were  to  be  educated  usefully  and  respectably, 
brought  up  to  industrious  habits,  and  to  receive  the  best  religious 
instruction  which  could  be  obtained  for  them.  Few  things  in 
Sydney  gave  such  general  satisfaction  as  this  benevolent  institu- 
tion ;  few  things  at  that  period  more  tended  to  the  amelioration 
of  the  conduct  of  those  who,  from  being  the  offscourings  of  such  a 
densely-peopled  country  a3  England,  were  of  course  so  deeply 
depraved  as  to  be  very  difficult  to  recover  from  their  evil  habits. 
Destitute  female  children  were  taken  into  this  establishment.  A 
portion  was  given  to  each  one  brought  up  in  this  place  of  100  acres 
of  land,  on  her  marriage-day,  provided  she  married  a  free  settler, 
and  was  herself  a  good  character.  This  was  a  great  inducement 
for  the  elder  ones  to  set  a  good  example,  as  well  as  to  induce  young 
free  men  to  be  approved  of  by  the  governor  as  worthy  to  receive 
so  great  a  boon.  Hence,  in  later  days,  have  arisen  many  sterling 
characters  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Sydney. 

In  this  benevolent  arrangement,  the  governor  was  mainly 
prompted  and  assisted  by  a  free  settler,  who  had  been  eight  years 
in  the  colony,  and  was  one  of  the  first  who  arrived  in  the  Dellona 
transport,  in  1793,  and  settled  upon  a  spot  then  called  Liberty 
Plains.  This  was  no  other  than  the  reader's  friend,  and  we  hope 
his  favourite,  John  Barry,  whose  steady  and  upright  character 
was  observed  by  the  governor  ;  he  was  taken  into  his  confidence, 
and  was  a  most  admirable  pattern  for  all  settlers.  For  his  strict 
integrity  and  early  business  habits,  he  was  chosen  as  the  great 
Government  agent  for  the  distribution  of  lands  ;  and  he  it  was 
who  suggested  to  Governor  King  the  plan  of  forming  this  Orphan 
,  Establishment.  In  the  sale  of  every  180  acres  to  free  settlers,  this 
gentleman  was  allowed  a  certain  percentage,  which  in  a  short  time 
realised  to  him  a  considerable  property,  in  addition  to  that  which 
he  had  already  acquired. 

John  Barry  was  also  the  first  to  propose,  and  to  assist  with  his 
wealth,  the  building  of  the  first  church,  that  of  St.  John's,  at  Sydney. 
He  often  lamented  that  Government  would  not  make  a  noble  grant 


302  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

of  land  for  church  purposes,  and  in  that  early  day  he  tried  hard 
for  a  public  grant  for  the  Church  of  England,  and  mourned  over 
the  supineness  of  colonial  legislation  upon  such  a  vital  subject. 
Had  this  good  man  lived  but  to  see  the  arrival  of  a  British  Bishop 
of  Australia,  it  would  have  added  one  more  joy  to  the  many  which 
his  good  conduct  provided  for  him  ;  indeed,  he  always  said  that 
such  would  be  the  case.  Mr.  Barry  had  a  very  handsome  house  at 
Windsor,  on  the  green  hills  of  Hawkesbury  ;  also  a  fine  estate, 
consisting  of  the  most  extensive  pastures  and  the  finest  corn 
district  in  the  whole  region. 

John  Barry  had  kept  his  solemn  word  with  Margaret,  and  had 
never  entered  into  any  matrimonial  alliance,  though  he  was  looked 
upon  as  the  most  eligible  match  in  the  whole  colony. 

And  this  was  the  person  formerly  known  to  the  reader  as  Jack 
Barry,  the  young  farming  lad,  the  son  of  the  miller  at  Levington 
Creek,  on  the  river  Orwell.  With  small  means,  good  introductions, 
steady  conduct,  and  active  habits,  this  youth  rose  from  the  day 
he  purchased  his  first  hundred  acres  in  the  colony  until  the  day 
of  his  death.  Two  of  his  sisters  had  gone  out  to  him  before 
Margaret's  committal  to  prison  for  any  offence,  and  all  that  they 
could  tell  him  of  her  was,  that  she  was  at  service  at  the  Cliff  at 
Ipswich,  and  that  Laud  was  in  the  British  navy.  This  gave  him 
unfeigned  pleasure,  though  it  did  not  permit  him  to  hope  that  he 
should  ever  see  Margaret. 

Had  he  been  certified  of  Laud's  death,  there  is  little  doubt  that 
he  would  have  returned  to  England.  But  his  own  family,  in  their 
correspondence  with  him,  never  mentioned  either  one  or  the  other 
person. 

Indeed,  after  Margaret  became  so  notorious  in  the  county  of 
Suffolk,  they  never  named  her  to  him,  or  sent  him  the  papers  which 
mentioned  any  word  concerning  her.  He  very  seldom  named  her 
to  his  sisters.  He  knew  nothing  of  her  career,  and  she  had  actually 
been  living  some  years  within  a  short  distance  of  his  own  residence 
in  Australia,  without  his  either  seeing  or  hearing  anything  of  her. 
In  her  most  confidential  communications  with  Mrs.  Palmer,  she 
had  never  mentioned  his  name,  or  an  explanation  must  have  taken 
place.  She  had  the  narrowest  chance  of  meeting  him  in  July, 
1803,  when  Mr.  Barry  came  to  inspect  the  Asylum.  A  day  only 
before  he  came,  Margaret  had  been  sent  to  a  free  settler's,  a  rela- 
tion of  Mrs.  Palmer's,  who  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  his  wife, 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  303 

and  being  left  with  two  very  small  children,  he  wanted  a  person 
like  Margaret  to  take  care  of  them,  and  to  superintend  his  domestic 
concerns.  Mrs.  Palmer  consented  to  let  Margaret  go,  if  she  would, 
at  least  for  a  time,  until  her  relative  could  meet  with  an  eligible 
person.  This  gentleman's  name  wa3  Poinder,  and  his  house  was  at 
Richmond  Hill.  Margaret  did  not  raise  any  objection,  though  all 
felt  sorry  to  part  with  her  from  the  Asylum  ;  she  went  to  oblige  her 
mistress,  and  received  a  handsome  present  from  her  at  parting. 

The  first  money  which  this  faithful  creature  received  was  devoted 
to  the  purchase  of  many  curious  things  for  her  dear  mistress  in 
England.  These  she  treasured  up,  anticipating  the  pleasures  of 
forwarding  them  from  Sidney,  when  she  had  obtained  sufficient  to 
fill  a  chest. 

Though  many  letters  and  presents  had  been  sent  from  her 
friends  in  England,  it  would  appear  by  a  letter  to  her  Uncle  Leader, 
dated  December  20th,  1804,  that  she  never  received  any  of  them. 
That  uncle  conveyed  her  letter  to  Mrs.  Cobbold,  who  took  a  copy 
of  it,  from  which  it  is  here  transcribed.  Three  years  have  passed 
away  since  the  date  of  her  first  letter,  and  the  poor  creature  had 
been  vexed  greatly  at  the  non-arrival  of  any  tidings  from  her 
friends. 

"Sydney,  December  20th,  1804. 
"  My  dear  Uncle  and  Aunt, — With  great  pleasure  I  once  more 
take  up  my  pen  to  write  to  you,  and  all  your  dear  children,  as  well 
as  all  inquiring  friends,  hoping  that  they  may  all  be  in  as  good 
health  as  I  am  at  the  time  this  letter  leaves  this  country.  1  bless 
God,  dear  uncle,  for  His  past  and  present  mercies  towards  me, 
which  have  been  and  are  very  great.  I  am  as  young  as  I  ever  was  ; 
indeed  I  may  say  that  I  am  in  spirit,  if  not  in  body,  younger, 
freer,  and  happier,  than  I  ever  was  at  any  former  period  of  my  life. 
I  should  be  almost  ready  to  jump  over  St.  John's  Church,  which  is 
the  first  church  built  in  this  country,  if  I  could  only  hear  from 
you,  or  some  of  my  dear  friends  in  England.  You  may  well 
suppose  how  overjoyed  I  should  be  to  snatch  up  any  tidings  of  any 
of  you. 

11 1  cannot  think  why  I  have  not  heard  from  some  of  you. 
England  is,  I  know,  in  a  very  disturbed  state,  and  engaged  in  a 
maritime  war.  This  is  the  fourth  time  I  have  written.  I  sent  a 
letter  by  Captain  Sumpter,  on  the  return  of  the  vessel  I  came  by  ; 
my  next  I  sent  by  the  Glutton  and  my  next  by  the  Calcutta.     I  did 


304  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

hope  that  I  should  have  received  a  letter  before  this  time.  My 
anxieties  have  been  so  great  as  almost  to  make  me  go  out  of  my 
mind  ;  I  see  so  many  letters  arriving  from  London,  but  none  for 
poor  me.  I  should  be  unhappy  indeed  if  I  thought  that  no  friends 
in  England  cared  for  me. 

"  I  am  so  grieved  and  disappointed  that  my  dearly  loved  mistress 
has  not  written  to  me  once  since  we  parted  !  I  cannot  bring  myself 
to  believe  that  if  she  is  alive,  and  is  able,  she  has  not  already 
done  so.  I  fear  that  some  accident  has  occurred  to  the  ship  by 
which  she  has  written  to  me,  and  that  she  is  waiting  for  some 
reply.  Do  not  neglect  me  this  time,  dear  uncle,  for  it  makes  me 
very  unhappy  to  think  that  I  cannot  hear  from  you,  or  any  of 
my  friends  in  England. 

"  I  am  in  great  hopes  that,  if  I  continue  in  the  same  state  that 
I  am  now  in,  and,  if  it  please  God,  have  the  same  approbation  of 
my  employers,  who  are  high  in  the  governor's  favour,  I  shall  have 
the  unspeakable  joy  of  seeing  you  all  again.  The  thought  of  such 
a  blessing  makes  my  hand  tremble,  and  the  tears  run  down  my 
cheeks  so  fast,  I  cannot  see  the  end  of  my  pen.  Governor  King 
is  a  very  good  man  ;  he  is  very  merciful  to  those  who  deserve  it, 
even  to  those  who  are,  as  T  am,  transported  for  life.  There  are 
many  who  have  been  granted  their  free  pardon  with  power  to 
settle  in  the  colony.  Some  who  have  distinguished  themselves  by 
exemplary  conduct,  and  have  rendered  public  service  to  the  settle- 
ment, not  only  receive  their  free  pardon,  but  are  permitted  to 
return,  if  they  wish  it,  to  their  native  land.  The  anticipation  of 
such  an  event  would  prompt  me  to  any  service. 

"  The  young  man  who  brings  this  letter  to  England  was  trans- 
ported for  life.  He  was  in  the  governor's  service,  and  discovered  a 
robbery  of  the  Government  stores,  for  which  he  has  received  a  full 
and  free  pardon.  He  lived  one  year  at  John  Palmer's,  Esq.,  where 
I  have  been  living  ;  his  name  is  William  Underwood.  He  was 
very  much  approved  while  in  my  master's  service,  and  was  taken 
thence  into  the  governor's  establishment.  He  is  a  good  young 
man,  and  was  betrayed  into  crime  by  a  butler,  who  employed  him 
to  rob  his  master,  in  London.  He  promises  to  convey  this  letter 
to  England,  and  to  post  it  for  you,  so  that  I  do  hope  this  will 
certainly  come  to  hand. 

"  I  have  left  Mrs.  Palmer's  service  for  a  time,  at  her  own  parti- 
cular request,  and  am  now  living  as  housekeeper  to  a  young  friend 


THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  305 

of  hers,  who  married  her  niece.  He  is  a  free  settler.  His  wife  was 
a  very  sickly  lady,  and  had,  since  she  resided  in  this  spot,  fallen 
into  a  rapid  decline  ;  indeed  she  was  in  a  poor  state  of  health 
during  her  sea-voyage.  She  was  a  good  and  amiable  lady,  and  her 
Loss  is  a  great  misfortune  to  the  young  man,  and  much  sorrow  to 
my  dear  Mrs.  Palmer. 

"The  free  settlers  are  the  great  farmers  of  this  country;  they 
have  one  hundred  acres  of  land  as  a  grant,  with  power  to  purchase 
as  many  more  as  they  can  ;  they  have  to  clear  away  the  woods, 
and  burn  up  the  stumps,  before  they  can  grow  corn,  though  the 
swine  thrive  well  in  the  thick  bush.  We  begin  to  set  wheat  in 
March  or  April,  and  the  harvest  comes  on  in  November ;  and  as 
soon  as  that  is  cleared  off,  they  set  fire  to  stubble,  and  burn  it 
en  the  land,  and  then  put  in  fresh  corn  directly.  They  do  not 
plough  it,  but  dibble  the  corn  in  without  cleaning  it,  as  the  burning 
straw  destroys  the  roots  of  all  the  weeds. 

"  In  clearing  new  land,  it  is  broken  up  by  men  with  very  large 
hoes,  and  it  is  the  hardest  work  that  is  done  in  the  country.  A 
great  price  is  paid  for  this  labour,  and  men  work  too  hard  at  it. 
They  frequently  destroy  their  health  and  their  lives,  by  their  over- 
exertion to  get  rich  enough  to  buy  farms  for  themselves.  This  has 
been  done  by  some  robust  men,  but  others  fall  a  prey  to  the  toil. 

"  This  is  a  very  dangerous  country  at  present  to  settle  in.  The 
natives,  who  are  almost  black,  wear  no  covering,  but  go,  most  of 
them,  in  a  state  of  nudity.  They  paint  their  bodies  with  a  light- 
coloured  ochre,  marking  out  the  ribs  and  bones  so  strongly,  that 
at  a  little  distance  in  the  shade  they  look  like  so  many  moving 
skeletons.  They  are  a  most  miserable,  half-starved  race  of  men, 
but  very  active,  very  treacherous,  and  very  bold.  They  seem  to 
have  no  shame.  They  used  to  bear  a  deadly  hatred  to  the  white 
people ;  and  if  all  I  hear  be  trua  of  some  of  the  dealings  of  our 
colonists  with  these  poor  wretches,  I  am  not  surprised  at  it. 

"  They  are  much  more  reconciled  to  us  than  they  were,  and 
actually  send  some  of  their  young  children  to  be  instructed  in  our 
schools.  I  do  not  think,  however,  that  the  race  will  ever  amal- 
gamate with  our  own,  it  appears  such  an  inferior  and  unsettled  one. 
As  we  advance  our  settlers  towards  the  Blue  Mountains,  these 
people  will  recede  from  us,  and  being  divided  into  many  tribes 
hostile  to  each  other,  will  never  be  able  to  unite  their  forces 
against  us. 


306  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

"  This  country  is  full  of  curious  animals.  I  have  already  collected 
some  skins  for  my  dear  mistress  at  the  Cliff.  I  never  get  a  fresh 
one  without  blessing  her  name,  and  hoping  that,  poor  as  I  am,  I 
may  yet  give  her  some  little  pleasure. 

"  Among  the  snakes,  few  are  venomous.  I  have  seen  but  one, 
which  I  am  told  is  a  very  dangerous  foe.  Him  I  had  a  personal 
conflict  with,  and  thank  God  I  came  off  victorious.  I  was  walking 
with  two  young  children  of  my  master's,  not  very  far  from  the 
newly-enclosed  lands.  The  children  were  a  few  yards  in  advance 
of  me,  gathering  flowers  for  me,  when  a  large  black  snake  flew  at 
me  from  the  foot  of  a  tree,  just  as  if  it  had  been  a  dog.  I  had 
nothing  in  my  hand  but  a  thin  stick  which  I  had  broken  off  one 
of  the  fresh  shoots  of  a  stump  of  a  tree,  which  had  been  cut  down 
ihe  last  winter  ;  but  I  was  afterwards  told  that  it  was  the  very 
J>est  weapon  of  defence  that  1  could  have.  He  rose  upon  his  tail, 
and  darted  at  my  face,  as  if  he  aimed  at  my  eyes  ;  but  just  as  he 
came  within  reach,  I  gave  him  a  cut  over  a  white  line  at  the  back 
of  his  neck,  which  attracted  my  attention  ;  he  made  a  beautiful 
curve,  like  the  bending  of  a  fountain  when  it  has  reached  its 
height,  and  then  fell  in  a  straight,  stiff  line,  licking  the  dust. 

"  It  was  providential  that  I  hit  him  where  I  did,  for  my  master 
told  me  it  was  the  only  place  that  I  could  have  killed  him  on  so 
suddenly.  He  told  me  that  he  was  the  most  venomous  snake  in 
the  country,  and  that,  had  I  not  broken  his  neck  as  I  did,  either 
the  children  or  myself  would  have  been  killed.  His  bite  is  attended 
with  swelling  and  blaikness  of  the  body,  and  when  the  sun  goes 
down  death  ensue3.  How  merciful  that  the  dear  children  had 
passed  by  him  without  provoking  an  attack  !  The  whole  of  that 
night  I  did  nothing  but  lie  and  think  of  this  event,  and  thank  God 
for  my  deliverance. 

"Some  of  the  snakes  which  I  have  seen  are  full  twelve  feet 
long,  and  thicker  than  a  stout  man's  arm.  These  are  not  venomous, 
but  they  would  soon  strangle  a  child.  Some  of  our  workmen  have 
had  severe  encounters  with  them. 

"  I  have  collected  a  good  many  curiosities  of  this  country,  and 
have  skinned  the  birds  and  smaller  animals  myself,  and  preserved 
their  skins,  as  dear  Doctor  Stebbing  directed  me  ;  and  if  I  can 
once  get  a  letter  from  England  to  assure  me  that  I  live  in  the 
memory  of  my  friends,  I  will  soon  pack  them  off  to  my  good  and 
learned  mistress.     People  laugh  at  me  sometimes  for  giving  the 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  307 

value  of  a  quarter  of  an  acre  of  land  for  the  skin  of  a  dead  animal, 
but  they  know  not  the  pleasure  I  derive  from  the  joy  of  pleasing 
those  I  love. 

"  Give  my  love  to  my  aunt  and  the  dear  children,  and  for  their 
sakes,  as  well  as  my  own,  let  them  see  this  long  letter.  It  may 
teach  them  to  be  very  thankful  to  God  ;  then  they  will  bless  poor 
Margaret,  their  foster-mother,  and  feel  glad  that  they  are  so  beloved 
by  one  so  far  away  from  them.  , 

,  "  This  is  a  very  hot  country.  In  the  summer,  the  ground  actually 
Bcorches  the  feet  whilst  we  walk  upon  it,  and  creates  great  blisters, 
especially  where  shoe-leather,  which  is  very  scarce  and  dear,  does 
not  protect  the  feet.  In  winter  it  is  very  cold.  Not  that  there  is 
any  quantity  of  snow,  but  there  are  very  white  frosts,  which  pene- 
trate to  the  inmost  recesses  of  our  chambers.  It  is  much  colder 
and  hotter  than  it  used  to  be,  since  the  country  is  cleared  of  its 
shady  woods,  and  is  so  much  more  open.  It  will  be  a  very  populous 
and  improving  country.  Even  within  a  year  or  two,  the  people 
seem  to  be  more  moral  and  domesticated  than  they  were ;  but  it  is 
a  terrible  place  for  drunkards. 

"  We  want  British  clergymen  ;  good  men,  of  real  steady  prin- 
ciples, such  as  you  have  in  England.  The  governor  orders  the 
Bible  to  be  read  at  stated  times  to  the  different  gangs  of  convicts  ; 
but  then  it  is  a  convict  who  can  read  better  than  the  rest,  and 
they  make  a  joke  of  him  !  Oh  !  what  a  sin  it  is  that  so  little 
provision  should  be  made  for  that  which  would  be  the  surest  way 
to  reform  the  oonvicts,  and  to  preserve  their  souls  alive !  I  pray 
continually  for  friends  to  help  us. 

"  The  trees  grow  very  fast  in  this  country.  A  few  pear-trees  and 
apple-trees  are  getting  up,  and  the  vine  flourishes  wherever  it  is 
planted.  The  oak  grows  luxuriantly  ;  peaches  and  apricots  thrive  ; 
but  gooseberries  and  currants  do  not  seem  to  suit  the  soil.  Money 
is  very  scarce.  Copper  coins  are  almost  the  value  of  silver,  and 
gold  is  a  thing  that  I  seldom  see.  Those  who  trade  with  India  or 
China  are  the  only  people  in  the  colony  who  use  it.  Tea  is  dearer 
here  than  it  is  in  Old  England,  though  we  are  so  much  nearer  to 
the  countries  where  it  is  grown.  It  is  a  matter  of  luxurious 
indulgence  which  convicts  and  servants  do  not  at  present  enjoy. 
The  native  flax  of  Norfolk  Island  is  the  finest  which  we  can  obtain. 
You  must  not  suppose  that  we  are  badly  off,  though  some  commo- 
dities may  be  very  dear ;  for  this  country  will  be,  if  the  world 

20 


308  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

stand,  one  of  the  richest  on  the  face  of  the  earth  :  oh,  that  it  may 
be  one  of  the  best !  At  present  it  is  one  of  the  worst,  though 
improving. 

"  Sarah,  or,  as  she  calls  herself,  Elizabeth  Barker,  and  Elizabeth 
Killet,  are  both  living.  One  is  doing  well;  I  regret  to  (state  the 
other  does  badly. 

"If  the  young  man  who  brings  this  should  write  to  you  from 
London,  send  an  answer  to  him  directly.  He  intends  to  return 
and  settle  here.  He  is  a  good  young  man.  Singularly  enough, 
he  returns  to  England  to  gratify  his  aged  parents  with  a  sight  of 
himself,  and  intends  to  try  and  persuade  one  of  his  female  cousins 
to  come  out  with  him. 

"  Pray  go  to  my  dear  Mrs.  Cobbold,  and  tell  her  I  long»  to  hear 
of  her  and  her  family.  The  same  of  Dr.  Stebbing.  Be  sure  and 
direct  your  letters  for  me,  at  Mrs.  Palmer's  Orphan  Asylum,  Port 
Jackson,  Sydney.  Let  all  your  letters  be  left  at  Government  House. 
Mrs.  Palmer  will  take  care  of  any  letters  for  me.  Pray  God  bless 
and  keep  you  all,  is  the  constant  prayer  of 

u  Your  affectionate  niece, 

"  Margaret  Catchpolb, 

"  To  Mr.  William  Leader, 

"  Brandiston,  near  Woodbridge, 

"Suffolk,  England." 

By  her  next  letter  it  appears  that  Margaret  was  housekeeper 
to  a  young  widower.  After  living  there  about  one  year,  her  prin- 
ciples were  put  to  a  trial,  under  which  any  less  firm  and  stable 
than  hers  would  have  succumbed.  The  young  widower,  finding 
what  a  valuable  person  Margaret  was,  resolved  to  marry  her.  He 
did  not  think  it  at  all  necessary  to  pay  court  to  one  who  he  thought 
would  feel  herself  honoured  by  the  proposal ;  and  as  he  fully  in- 
tended to  make  her  the  mistress  of  his  establishment,  he  at  once 
said  to  her — 

"Young  woman,  I  am  resolved  to  marry  you,  and  make  you 
mistress  of  my  house  at  Richmond  Hill.  You  need  not  trouble 
yourself  to  make  any  preparations.  I  will  see  the  Rev.  Mr.  John- 
son, the  chaplain,  and  to-morrow  you  shall  be  mistress  of  my 
establishment." 

Startled  as  Margaret  was  by  this  wholly  unexpected  offer,  and 
by  the  terms  in  which  it  was  couched,  she  hesitated  not  a  moment 
in  her  reply. 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  309 

"  I  have  no  intention,  sir,  whatever,"  said  she,  "to  marry  any- 
one, but  most  certainly  should  not  think  of  marrying  you.  I  was 
sent  here  by  your  relative,  Mrs.  Palmer,  in  the  capacity  of  your 
servant,  and  I  am  willing  to  fulfil  the  duties  of  that  situation  ;  but 
I  should  act  with  great  duplicity  towards  my  mistress,  if,  without 
either  yourself  or  me  holding  any  conversation  with  her  upon  the 
subject,  I  were  to  marry  you.  But,  to  be  candid  with  you  at' 
once,  sir,  I  tell  you  I  have  no  intention  to  marry,  and  I  will  not 
comply  with  your  demands  in  this  respect.* 

As  may  be  supposed,  the  young  man  was  not  a  little  astonished  ; 
but  all  he  said  was — 

"Then,  if  you  do  not,  you  may  go  back  to  Mrs.  Palmer,  and 
say  I  sent  you." 

This  was  quite  enough  for  Margaret,  who  immediately  packed 
up  her  few  treasures,  and  started  off  for  Sydney  ;  and  her  kind 
friend,  Mrs.  Palmer,  who  was  equally  astonished  and  pleased  at 
her  conduct,  received  her  again  in  a  more  confidential  capacity. 

One  thing  poor  Margaret  had  deeply  to  regret  about  this  time, 
and  it  occasioned  her  many  tears  of  unaffected  sorrow.  She  had, 
with  persevering  care,  and  at  serious  cost,  collected  a  great  many 
curiosities,  seeds  of  plants,  shells,  fossils,  minerals,  skins  of  birds 
and  lesser  animals,  all  which  she  had  treasured  up  with  the  most 
lively  hope  that  they  would  one  day  reach  her  dear  mistress  in 
England.  She  packed  them  in  a  strong  box,  and  paid  a  man  to 
carry  them  for  her  to  Mrs.  Palmer's,  at  Sydney  ;  but  they  never 
arrived.  The  man  to  whom  they  had  been  entrusted  broke  open 
the  box,  sold  the  contents  to  a  settler,  and  invented  a  plausible  tale 
of  his  being  robbed  by  some  bushmen. 

The  name  of  the  gentleman  who  made  Margaret  the  offer  of 
marriage,  above  referred  to,  was  Mr.  John  Poinder.  He  died  about 
two  years  afterwards,  but  left  his  aunt,  Mrs.  Palmer,  sole  executrix 
of  his  property,  and  commended  his  children  to  her  care.  Margaret 
then  returned  to  Richmond  Hill,  to  superintend  the  affairs  of  the 
house  and  the  management  of  the  children,  until  they  should  be 
sent  to  school. 

It  may  be  here  mentioned  as  one  of  those  singular  coincidences 
to  which  Margaret  Catchpole's  life  had  been  subjected,  that  not 
only  on  this  occasion  of  her  absence  from  the  Asylum,  but  on  the 
only  other  occasion  that  she  had  ever  been  absent  from  it,  Mr.  John 
Barry  visited  the  institution,  stayed  there  some  time,  and  left  it, 


310  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

without  receiving  the  smallest  intimation  that  it  was,  or  had  been, 
the  residence  of  the  woman  on  whom  his  affections  had  been  fixed 
from  the  first  moment  he  beheld  her,  and  had  never  swerved  up  to 
the  period  of  which  we  write  ;  and  the  subsequent  events  which  we 
have  to  record  render  this  coincidence  still  more  remarkable. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

REPENTANCE   AND   AMENDMENT. 


Before  Margaret  left  Sydney  the  second  time  for  Richmond  Hill, 
she  had  the  inexpressible  delight  of  receiving  a  ship-chest  from 
England,  containing  letters  and  presents  from  her  beloved  mistress 
and  friends.  The  good  Mrs.  Palmer  was  requested  to  be  present 
at  the  opening  of  the  chest ;  and  never,  never  did  the  eager  school- 
boy unpack  his  parcel  from  home  with  more  intense  delight  than 
this  poor  young  woman  did  the  box  from  England. 

But  her  first  interest  was  directed  towards  the  packet  of  letters 
which  the  box  contained ;  and,  until  she  had  devoured  the  contents 
of  them,  all  else  was  a  matter  of  comparative  indifference  to  her. 
There  were  letters  from  her  Uncle  and  Aunt  Leader,  from  Dr.  Steb- 
bing,  from  several  of  her  fellow-servants  at  the  Cliff ;  but,  above 
all,  in  Margaret's  estimation,  there  were  letters  from  her  dear 
mistress— the  excellent  lady  of  the  Cliff— to  whose  kindness  she 
owed  and  felt  such  lasting  gratitude. 

The  reader  need  not  be  troubled  with  a  description  of  the 
numerous  articles  of  wearing  apparel  which  the  box  contained ; 
nor  is  it  needful  to  do  more  than  mention  that,  besides  the  larger 
objects,  there  was  an  inner  case,  containing  combs,  thimbles,  needles, 
netting  needles  and  pins,  knitting  needles,  pins,  threads,  papers  of 
Dutch  tape,  of  India  cotton,  of  coarse  threads,  pincushions,  scissors, 
knives,  and  all  sorts  of  those  stores  which  are  so  precious  to  a 
housewife,  when  at  a  distance  from  the  ordinary  sources  where  they 
are  to  be  procured. 

Poor  Margaret  could  neither  eat  nor  drink  till  she  had  devoured 
the  contents  of  her  letters.  She  cried  so  much  during  their  perusal, 
that  she  was  forced  to  ask  Mrs.  Palmer  to  read  them  to  her.  This 
she  did  with  most  sincere  pleasure,  for  they  afforded  her  own  good 


THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  31I 

heart  instruction  as  well  as  gratification.  The  letters  written  to 
Margaret  were  such  as  would  have  gratified  any  intellectual  and 
benevolent  mind.  They  were  much  admired  by  all  who  read  them, 
but  by  none  more  than  by  the  faithful  creature  to  whom  they  were 
directed. 

The  following  letter  was  addressed  by  Margaret  Catchpole  to 
Mrs.  Cobbold,  shortly  after  the  receipt  of  the  box  of  treasures  just 
alluded  to  : — 

"  October  18tk,  1807. 
"  Honoured  Madam, — With  the  purest  pleasure  I  again  seize  an 
opportunity  to  write  to-you.  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  do  so,  as  you 
are  my  dearest  friend  upon  earth.  Sincerely  do  I  thank  God  for 
your  health  and  happiness,  and  for  that  of  all  your  good  family.  I 
hope  and  trust  in  God  that  I  shall  soon  hear  from  you  again,  for 
it  is  my  greatest  comfort  in  this  distant  land.  Oh,  my  dear  lady, 
how  grieved  I  am  to  tell  you  that  there  are  so  many  depraved 
creatures  in  this  country  !  I  have  be>m  robbed  of  all  my  collection 
of  curiosities,  which  I  had  been  saving  up,  according  to  your  wishes, 
and  which  I  intended  to  have  sent  you  by  the  next  ship.  I  am 
sure  you  would  have  thought  them  valuable,  as  they  were  all  so 
perfect,  and  the  birds  in  such  good  order,  skinned,  and  dried,  and 
perfumed.  I  will  endeavour  to  collect  them  again  ;  but  I  am  so 
sorry,  when  I  had  collected  so  many,  and  had  such  great  pleasure 
in  them,  that  I  should  lose  them  all  through  the  artful  conduct  of 
wicked  men  ! 

"  But  I  will  soon  be  at  work  again  for  you.  I  have  no  greater 
joy  than  to  be  waiting  upon  you  ;  and  everything  I  get,  which  I 
think  will  be  valuable  to  you,  gives  me  increased  satisfaction.  You 
can  scarcely  believe  what  happiness  I  experience  in  devoting  any 
portion  of  my  time  to  your  service.  You  are  never  out  of  my 
thoughts,  and  always  in  my  prayers.  My  ideas  turn  toward  you 
from  every  place,  and  in  almost  everything  I  see.  When  I  think 
of  the  troubles  and  trials  you  must  have,  with  eighteen  childrefi 
around  you,  I  wonder  you  can  at  all  think  of  me.  But,  dear  lady, 
I  do  feel  such  an  interest  about  you,  and  your  family,  that  I  am 
thankful  whenever  you  name  any  of  them  ;  and  I  was  so  delighted 
with  your  description  of  them  all  !  Always  tell  me  about  them, 
I  sincerely  desire  to  know  how  Miss  Anne  is,  and  Miss  Harriet 
and  Miss  Sophia. 


312  THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

"  Have  you  any  knowledge,  my  dear  lady,  of  Governor  Blight 
Alas  !  I  have  lost  a  good  friend  in  Governor  King. 

u  I  do  think  that  if  a  petition  were  presented  to  him  in  my 
behalf,  so  well  known  as  I  am  to  the  late  governor,  something 
might  be  done  for  me.  Every  one  tells  me  that  he  says  my  conduct 
has  been  so  uniformly  consistent  and  good  that  I  deserve  a  reward. 
But  it  requires  friends  near  the  fountain  of  mercy  to  make  its 
stream  flow  towards  such  as  I.  I  should  be  almost  ready  to  die 
with  joy  if  a  pardon  were  to  come  to  me,  with  permission  to 
return  to  England.  I  would  then  gladly  come,  and  live  and  die 
in  your  service. 

"  Since  I  last  wrote  to  you,  I  have  been  living  again  with  Mrs. 
Palmer.  I  sent  you,  by  the  ship  Buffalo,  a  small  case,  containing 
the  skins  of  the  rarest  birds  found  in  this  country,  together  with 
an  opossum,  of  a  dark  colour,  and  very  fierce  ;  also  a  species  of  rat, 
which  very  much  resembles  a  diminutive  hyena.  You  will  find 
two  large,  magnificent  birds,  called  here  the  mountain  pheasant ; 
they  are  only  like  our  English  bird  in  size.  The  plume  of  feathers 
in  the  tail  of  the  cock  bird  would  form  the  most  graceful  ornament 
for  a  queen's  head-dress.  Two  noble  feathers,  somewhat  like  a 
peacock's,  only  more  brilliant  and  various  in  their  colours,  sur- 
rounded by  the  most  glittering  silver  lines  of  curving  feathers,  fine 
as  the  prairie  grass,  and  sparkling  like  the  waves  of  the  ocean, 
ornament  the  tail  of  the  male  bird,  whilst  the  female  is  only 
remarkable  for  the  elegance  of  her  shape,  and  not  for  the  beauty 
of  her  plumage. 

"In  my  opinion,  this  bird  is  the  peafowl  of  this  country,  and 
not  a  pheasant.  Early  in  the  morning,  I  have  seen  him  spring 
from  the  thickest  brushwood,  and  wing  his  arrow-like  flight  to  the 
tallest  tree,  and  there  he  appears  to  mimic  the  notes  of  the  various 
songsters  around  him.  But  the  most  beautiful  attitude  that  I  once 
saw  him  in  beats  everything  I  ever  beheld  of  what  men  term 
politeness.  I  have  heard  and  have  read  of  delicate  attentions  paid 
to  our  sex  by  men  of  noble  and  generous  dispositions  ;  but  I 
scarcely  ever  heard  of  such  devoted  attention  as  I  one  day  wit- 
nessed in  this  noble  bird  towards  his  mate.  I  saw  her  sitting  in 
the  heat  of  the  meridian  sun  upon  her  nest,  and  the  cock  bird 
seated  near  her,  with  his  tail  expanded,  like  a  bower  overshadow- 
ing her  ;  and,  as  the  sun  moved,  so  did  he  turn  his  elegant  parasol 
to  guard  her  from  his  rays.     Now  and  then  he  turned  his  bright 


THE   HISTORY   Of   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE\  313 

eye  to  see  if  she  was  comfortable,  and  she  answered  his  inquiry 
with  a  gentle  note  and  rustle  of  her  feathers. 

"  Was  not  this  a  sight  calculated  to  teach  us  all  gentleness  ? 
Dear  lady,  as  I  looked  upon  it,  the  tears  came  warmly  down  my 
cheeks,  as  I  thought  of  your  good  husband  and  yourself  ;  and  I 
dreamed  of  your  writing  a  poem  upon  this  subject,  and  reading  it 
to  the  young  ladies  in  the  schoolroom.  I  had  often  wondered  what 
use  the  tail  of  this  bird  could  be  to  him.  If  this  be  one  of  its 
general  uses,  surely  it  is  truly  ornamental  and  useful.  I  hope 
these  birds  will  come  safe  to  hand.  Captain  Brooks  of  the  Buffalo, 
promised  me  faithfully  that  he  would  himself  forward  them  into 
Suffolk.  The  thought  that  they  may  reach  you  and  give  you 
pleasure  will  make  me  happy  for  many  a  long  day.  Owing  to 
the  late  floods,  every  thing  is  become  very  dear  :  pork,  2s.  ;  beef 
and  mutton,  2s.  3d.  ;  soft  sugar,  6s.  and  8s.  ;  tea,  11.  10s.  per 
pound  ;  a  bushel  of  wheat,  11.  5s. ;  printed  cotton,  10s.  to  12s.  per 
yard  ;  shoes,  for  females,  13s.  per  pair.  Scarcely  any  linen  cloth 
to  be  had.     Newspapers,  of  any  date,  Is.  a-piece. 

"But  your  chest,  just  now  arrived,  contains  so  many  things  of 
value,  that  my  good  Mrs.  Palmer  has  at  once  proposed  that  I 
should  open  a  little  shop  at  Richmond  Hill.  I  wrote  word,  in  my 
uncle's  letter,  or  in  my  last  to  you,  about  my  offer  of  marriage, 
but  the  gentleman  is  since  dead,  and  has  left  his  property  to  the 
management  of  Mrs.  Palmer.  She  says  I  shall  have  a  cottage  of 
my  own,  with  land  attached  to  it,  and  begin  business  for  myself. 

You  know  not,  dear  lady,  how  valuable  all  those  things  are  which 
you  have  sent  to  me.  But  your  letters,  and  those  of  Mrs.  Sleorgin 
— oh,  what  a  comfort  they  have  been  to  me  ! 

"  I  had  been  very  ill  before  their  arrival.  About  eight  months 
ago,  I  took  a  long  journey,  for  Mrs.  Palmer,  to  arrange  some- 
thing about  Mr.  Poinder's  children.  I  walked  a  distance  of  thirty 
miles,  and  over-exerted  and  heated  myself  very  much,  so  that  my 
body  threw  out  large  blisters,  just  as  if  I  had  been  burnt  with 
small  coals,  and  I  was  so  swelled  out  that  I  thought  I  should  have 
lost  my  life.  I  was  under  the  care  of  a  Mr.  Mason,  a  very  clever 
surgeon ;  and  Mrs.  Palmer  was  very  kind  and  attentive  to  me. 
Blessing  be  to  God  !  I  recovered  ;  but  I  am  still  very  subject  to 
cold  and  inflammation.     I  am  not  permitted  to  go  near  the  fire. 

"  I  am  to  go  to  Richmond  Hill  as  soon  as  I  can,  which  will  be 
very  soon.     I  will  write  to  you  again  when  I  am   settled  there. 


314  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

Only  let  me  thank  you,  as  I  ought,  for  your  great  goodness  to  one 
so  unworthy  of  it.  If  I  should  prosper,  so  as  to  get  enough  to 
keep  myself  from  starving  in  my  old  days,  how  shall  I  bless  God 
for  raising  me  up  such  a  friend  as  you  have  been  to  me  ! 

"Mrs.  Palmer  says  she  is  very  sorry  to  part  with  me,  but  she 
wishes  to  serve  me.  She  is  so  good  to  me  !  She  was  so  pleased 
to  find  I  was  so  respected  by  such  friends  as  the  ladies  who  wrote 
to  me.  She  said  she  never  read  such  beautiful  letters  as  yours  and 
good  Mrs.  Sleorgin's,  and  asked  me  to  let  her  take  a  copy  of  them. 
She  had  a  great  desire  to  publish  them  in  the  Sydney  paper,  as 
she  thought  they  would  do  much  good  to  others  as  well  as  to  myself. 
She  blessed  your  spirit,  and  desired  me  to  say,  that  she  considered 
me  worthy  of  all  the  favour  which  your  generous  hand  had  bestowed 
upon  me.  This  was  her  saying ;  but  it  is  not  my  opinion,  though 
I  may  say  I  wish  I  was  worthy.  She  desired  me  to  say,  that  if  you 
should  see  Sir  William  Blizzard,  a  physician  in  London,  he  would 
tell  you  all  about  her.  She  has  promised  to  do  all  she  can  to 
obtain  my  restoration  to  society.  If  I  could  once  return  to  my 
own  native  land,  what  a  happy  woman  I  should  be  !  You  add 
much  to  my  comfort  here  ;  for  whenever  I  have  a  few  moments' 
spare  time,  I  am  sure  to  be  seeking  for  seeds,  shells,  insects,  or 
curiosities  of  any  kind  ;  and  the  thought  of  whom  I  am  serving 
makes  me  feel  very  happy.  Thank  God  !  I  keep  myself  free  from 
all  men.  I  have  formed  no  acquaintance  with  any  man  ;  and  I  may 
sincerely  confess  to  you,  my  dear  lady,  that  my  early  attachment 
and  deep-felt  disappointment  have  deadened  the  feelings  of  my 
heart  to  any  further  matrimonial  speculations.  I  do  not  think 
that  any  man  in  the  colony  could  persuade  me  to  marry.  My 
dear  Mrs.  Palmer  has  often  spoken  to  me  on  the  subject,  and  I  have 
never  concealed  the  fact,  that  to  my  first  attachment  I  owe  my 
present  abode  in  this  colony  as  a  convict.  I  am  wise  enough  now 
to  see  my  own  follies,  and  I  pray  to  God  for  His  forgiveness.  In 
this  colony  there  are  few  that  remain  single  from  choice,  old  01 
young.  Girls  of  fifteen  years  become  mothers  before  they  are  able 
to  take  care  of  themselves  ;  and  I  may  state  it  as  a  curious  fact, 
that  very  many  whom  you  would  suppose  too  old  to  be  mothers, 
have  young  families  increasing  around  them. 

"  Yegetation  in  this  clime  is  very  abundant ;  but  there  are  some 
fearful  drawbacks  to  our  reaping  its  fruits.  We  may  have  a  good 
crop  of  grain  on  the  ground  to-day,  and  to-morrow  it  may  be  all 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  315 

cut  down  by  a  hail-storm,  or  destroyed  by  a  blight,  or  swept  away 
by  a  flood.  On  Monday  last,  the  16th  of  this  month,  a  hail-storm 
passed  over  this  place,  and  cut  down  the  wheat  just  as  it  was  in 
full  blossom.  The  stones  which  fell  from  the  clouds  were  as  big  as 
pigeons'  eggs,  and  you  may  imagine  the  mischief  which  ensued. 
Great  numbers  of  fowls  and  small  cattle  were  killed.  The  harvest 
will  be  about  six  weeks  hence,  and  will  be  a  lamentably  deficient 
crop.  Now  begins  our  hot  season.  We  dread  the  attacks  of 
ophthalmia,  as  the  surgeons  call  it ;  we  call  it  commonly  the  blight 
in  our  eyes.  We  can  find  no  remedy  for  it  but  patience.  In  one 
day  our  eyelids  are  so  swelled  that  we  cannot  see.  With  some  it 
lasts  a  week,  with  others  a  month,  according  to  the  state  of  the 
constitution  of  the  sufferer.  It  is  a  very  irritating  and  painful 
disease,  and  none  are  such  dreadful  sufferers  as  those  who  most 
deserve  it,  the  habitual  drunkards,  of  which  class  I  regret  to  state 
there  are  too  many  in  this  country. 

"  The  natives  are  much  more  tractable  than  they  used  to  be,  and 
not  so  savage  and  uncivilised.  They  will  work  but  little  ;  I  can  get 
from  them,  however,  the  most  rare  skins  of  wild  animals,  such  as 
the  settlers  have  not  patience  to  pursue.  They  boast  that  the  white 
man  is  made  for  drudgery,  and  the  black  for  liberty.  He  can  roam 
through  his  native  woods  and  subsist  without  labour,  whilst  he 
supposes  that  we  enjoy  no  freedom.  They  have  not  left  off  their 
barbarous  habit  of  fighting  and  killing  each  other  for  a  public  ex- 
hibition. I  remember  that  you  used  to  make  the  young  ladies 
read  of  the  tournaments  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  and  how  the 
knights  sometimes  killed  each  other  in  this  way.  Surely  those 
ancestors  of  the  English  had  some  such  spirit  as  these  free  blacks 
of  Australia  in  this  day.  These  people  form  a  stately  circle,  and 
contend  most  skilfully  and  magnanimously,  by  fixed  and  settled 
rules  of  combat  ;  and  I  assure  you,  dear  lady,  that  their  deport- 
ment, at  such  times,  would  be  no  discredit  to  the  most  gallant 
knights  of  Europe.  Gallantry  towards  their  females,  however,  is 
at  a  very  low  ebb  ;  yet,  for  the  honour  of  the  sex,  they  take  no 
delight  in  these  pageants  of  blood  and  murder.  In  this  respect, 
degraded  as  they  are  in  other  things,  they  are  not  so  bad  as  some 
were  in  the  ages  of  chivalry. 

"  It  will  not  much  interest  you  to  know  of  our  farming  here,  but 
some  of  your  friends  may  like  to  hear  a  word  about  it,  though 
from  such  an  ignorant  being  as  myself.    The  price  of  farming  stock 


316  THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

is  very  high  :  a  sow  sells  for  £10  ;  a  ewe  for  £7  ;  a  milch-goat, 
£3  10s. ;  a  cow  from  £60  to  £70  ;  a  good  horse  from  £100  to  £150. 
But  things  will  not  continue  in  this  state  many  years,  for  this  is  a 
most  prolific  land.  You  will  be  more  glad  to  hear  of  our  great 
variety  of  botanical  plants.  My  good  lady,  Mrs.  Palmer,  has  pro- 
mised that  her  friend,  Mr.  Mason,  who  is  a  good  botanist,  shall 
affix  the  proper  names  to  each  of  the  specimens  which  I  send. 

"  Honoured  madam,  give  my  duty  to  Mrs.  Sleorgin,  and  say  how 
happy  I  am  to  hear  from  her,  and  am  glad  that  she  approves  of 
my  conduct  and  pursuits.  I  love  her  good  advice,  and  endeavour 
to  keep  it.  I  am  so  sorry  that  I  was  robbed  of  all  my  first 
treasures  for  you.  My  tears,  however,  would  not  bring  them  back 
again.  I  will  try  again.  Give  my  duty  to  dear  Doctor  Stebbing. 
Oh,  that  I  could  see  him  with  his  dog  and  gun,  upon  some  of  our 
plains,  or  beating  in  the  bush  of  this  country  !  I  would  get  him 
to  kill  me  many  a  beautiful  bird  to  enrich  your  collection.  Give 
my  duty  to  his  daughter.  Is  poor  old  Robinson  Crusoe  alive  ?  and 
is  Jack  "What  Cheer  ?  Alas  !  their  memory  brings  back  painful 
recollections.  So,  my  dear  lady,  hoping  to  hear  from  you  again, 
accept  the  love  and  duty  of  your  humble  and  constant  servant, 

"Margaret  Catchpolb. 

"  To  J.  Cobbold,  Esq., 
"  Cliff,  Ipswich." 

From  this  letter  it  appears  that  Margaret  was  then  upon  the  eve 
of  leaving  Sydney  for  her  cottage  at  Richmond  Hill,  some  forty  or 
fifty  miles  up  the  country.  There  were  a  small  village  and  store- 
rooms on  the  banks  of  the  river,  and  Margaret  rented  a  small  house 
and  about  twenty  acres  of  land  of  her  friend  Mrs.  Palmer,  at  a  very 
moderate  price.  Part  of  her  house  was  formed  into  a  shop,  in 
which  all  her  little  stock  in  trade  was  placed  and  her  little  capital 
invested.  The  goods  which  were  sent  her  from  England  formed  a 
valuable  assortment  ;  and  she  began  by  offering  for  sale  small 
portions  of  her  general  stock,  so  that  her  customers  might  have 
the  same  articles  upon  another  application.  Her  house  was  situated 
in  a  very  beautiful  spot,  commanding  an  extensive  view  over  a 
well-watered  plain,  with  the  ever-blue  mountains  in  the  distance. 

Margaret  remained  at  Richmond  Hill,  as  her  own  independent 
mistress,  for  five  years.  About  two  years  after  her  residence  at  this 
place  she  wrote  again  to  her  mistress,  and  sent  a  small  drawing 


THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  317 

of  her  cottage,  which  was  taken  by  one  of  Mrs.  Palmer's  friends 
for  this  very  purpose. 

The  mountain  pheasants,  which  she  speaks  of  in  the  following 
letter,  duly  arrived  by  the  Buffalo.  They  were  splendid  specimens, 
and  were  in  a  very  perfect  state.  They  were  preserved  in  the 
author's  family  for  many  years,  and  may  now  be  seen  at  the  public 
museum  at  Ipswich,  in  company  with  many  thousands  of  valuable 
specimens.  The  bird  itself  is  now  become  very  scarce.  A  live 
specimen  has  never  been  brought  to  England.* 

"Eichmond  Hill, 

October  8th,   1809. 

"Honoured  Madam, — I  take  up  my  pen  again  with  new  and 
increased  delight,  to  say  that  I  duly  received  another  box  from 
you,  which  arrived  at  Sydney  with  everything  in  it,  according  to 
the  inventory,  quite  safe.  A  thousand  thanks  for  it,  my  dear  lady, 
and  all  its  valuable  contents.  It  was  three  years  last  June  since  I 
sent  you,  according  to  your  request,  a  number  of  our  native  pro- 
ductions. I  had  a  cedar  case  made  on  purpose,  strong  and  stoutly 
ironed.  I  was  told  that  it  would  preserve  the  goods  in  a  more 
perfect  state  than  an  oaken  one  ;  but  as  you  say  nothing  about  its 
arrival  in  your  letter,  I  fear  that  it  is  lost. 

"I  sent  it  on  board  the  Buffalo,  the  ship  in  which  Governor 
King  left  the  colony.  It  may,  perhaps,  yet  reach  you.  I  hope  it 
will.  There  were  many  of  our  Sydney  newspapers  in  it,  and  a 
host  of  birds'  skins,  weapons  and  knives,  and  curiosities,  which  I 
obtained  from  the  natives  near  the  Blue  Mountains.     I  can  see  a 

*  The  specimens  in  question  may  be  seen  distinguished  by  a  label  attached 
to  them  with  the  following  words  : — 

"Manura  Superba. 

"Lyra,  of  Botany  Bay  Pheasant. 

"  These  beautiful  birds  were  sent  to  the  late  Mrs.  Cobbold,  of  the  Cliff,  by 
Margaret  Catchpole,  a  female  servant,  who  stole  a  coach-horse  from  the 
late  John  Cobbold,  Esq.,  and  rode  it  up  to  London  in  one  night.  She  was  in 
the  act  of  selling  the  horse  when  she  was  taken.  She  was  in  man's  apparel. 
She  was  tried  at  Bury  in  1797,  and  received  sentence  of  death,  which  sentence, 
owing  to  the  entreaties  of  the  prosecutor,  was  changed  to  seven  years' 
transportation;  but  breaking  out  of  gaol,  she  was  afterwards  transported 
for  life, 

"  Presented  to  this  Museum  by  B.  K.  Cobbold." 


318  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

great  part  of  the  chain  from  my  chamber- window.     Mrs.  Palmer 
undertook  to  see  the  case  forwarded  to  you. 

"  This  is  the  second  great  collection  I  have  made  for  you  ;  and  I 
shall  not,  dear  lady,  forward  any  more  until  I  hear  of  the  safe 
arrival  of  the  last,  it  is  so  very  disheartening  to  find  all  my  labour 
and  love  thrown  away.  Oh  !  how  I  wish  that  I  could  be  permitted 
to  bring  a  cargo  home  for  you !  I  would  part  with  everything  1 
have  most  gladly  for  such  a  purpose,  but  I  fear  it  will  never  be  ; 
and  sometimes  my  poor  heart  feels  broken,  as  I  sit  alone,  pondering 
over  all  my  hopes  and  fears. 

"  My  dear  landlady,  Mrs.  Palmer,  has  given  me  such  a  nice 
drawing  of  my  cottage  and  the  surrounding  country  for  you  !  I 
shall  send  it ;  and  I  hope  you  will  not  think  me  presumptous  if  I 
ask  for  one  of  the  dear,  dear  Cliff,  as  I  know,  my  dear  lady,  that 
you  can  so  easily  do  one  for  me.  If  one  of  the  young  ladies  would 
be  so  kind  as  to  copy  it,  then  I  could  give  Mrs.  Palmer  one  by  way 
of  return.  Yours  shall  hang  over  my  chimney-place  ;  and  when  I 
look  at  it  I  shall  think  of  those  happy  days  which  I  spent  there 
with  you  for  my  friend  and  miotress. 

"  Ah  !  dear  lady,  when  I  was  learning  so  many  good  lessons 
under  your  eye,  little  did  I  think  that  I  should  reap  the  profit 
thereof  in  a  foreign  land.  Your  word  of  approbation  was  a  sort  of 
foretaste  of  that  which,  I  hope  and  trust,  we  shall  both  rejoice  to 
hear,  '  Well  done,  good  and  faithful  serva  nt ! ' 

"  Dear  lady,  I  am  very  contented,  and  am  getting  on  well,  but 
we  have  all  had  severe  misfortune  in  this  district :  first,  by  the 
floods  ;  secondly,  by  fire  ;  and  thirdly,  by  such  a  hurricane  as 
levelled  whole  acres  of  timber- trees  of  enormous  size.  We  were 
afraid  to  remain  indoors  lest  our  houses  should  fall  on  our  heads  ; 
and  out  of  doors  we  could  hardly  stand  at  all.  Great  trees  swept 
by  us  as  if  they  had  been  straws. 

"  The  flood  in  the  month  of  May  distressed  us  very  much  ;  but 
that  on  the  31st  of  July  and  the  1st  of  August,  the  days  after 
the  high  wind,  was  dreadful.  It  was  the  greatest  ever  experienced 
by  any  of  the  settlers,  though  the  natives  speak  of  one  which 
covered  all  the  plain  from  the  mountains,  and  was  deeper  than 
our  church  is  high.  The  one  I  have  so  lately  witnessed  went  over 
the  tops  of  the  houses  on  the  plain  ;  and  many  poor  creatures 
were  on  their  chimneys  crying  out  for  mercy,  and  for  boats  to  go 
to  them.    It  was  shocking  to  hear  their  cries,  and  it  made  me  feel  so 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  319 

wretched  at  not  being  able  to  relieve  them.  It  was  very  dangerous  to 
approach  them,  for  sometimes  the  eddies  were  so  strong  round 
their  houses  that  boats  were  swept  away,  or  swamped  in  the  attempt. 
I  saw  one  boat  completely  sunk  by  a  tree  falling  upon  it,  just  as  it 
was  passing  ;  and  had  not  another  boat  been  near  to  take  the 
sufferers  off  the  boughs  upon  which  they  had  climbed,  they  must 
all  have  perished. 

M  One  man,  of  the  name  of  Thomas  Lacey,  and  his  wife  and 
family,  were  carried  away  in  their  barn.  They  got  upon  the  mow, 
and  broke  a  hole  through  the  thatch.  I  saw  them,  dear  creatures, 
holding  up  their  hands  to  heaven  as  they  passed  us  on  the  sweeping 
flood,  and  imploring  our  help.  It  made  my  spirit  rise  within  me  ; 
and  I  thought  how  God  had  made  me  instrumental  in  saving  life 
in  former  days,  and  I  could  not  resist  the  impulse  of  that  which  at 
first  the  people  called  my  madness.  I  called  to  some  men  who 
were  standing  near  a  boat  moored  to  the  bank,  and  urged  them  to 
go  with  me  to  the  rescue,  but  they  would  none  of  them  stir.  I 
took  two  long  linen-lines,  and  tied  them  together,  and  requested  the 
people  on  the  bank  to  assist  me,  for  I  was  determined  to  go  alone 
if  they  would  not  go  with  me. 

"I  jumped  into  the  boat,  and  then  the  men  were  ashamed,  and 
took  their  oars,  and  said  they  would  go  without  me  ;  but  no,  that 
I  was  determined  they  should  not  do  ;  so  the  man  slackened  the 
rope,  as  we  were  carried  by  the  stream  towards  the  barn,  which 
had  fortunately  grounded  upon  the  stump  of  some  large  tree  which 
had  collected  a  quantity  of  earth  so  as  to  form  a  bank  near  it. 
We  had  hard  work  to  get  up  towards  the  smooth-water  side  of 
the  barn  ;  but  the  men  kept  the  boat  close  to  the  side  by  pushing 
against  the  trunk  of  the  tree  ;  and  I  stood  up  at  the  head  of  the 
boat,  and  received  the  dear  children  into  my  arms.  They  were  all 
taken  from  the  thatch,  and  we  launched  again  into  the  eddies. 

"  Had  it  not  been  for  the  line,  we  should  have  been  sent  down 
the  stream  like  an  arrow  from  a  bow.  All  our  fear  was  lest  the 
line  should  break,  and  if  it  had  we  could  never  have  rowed  up  the 
stream.  Thanks  be  to  the  providential  mercy  of  God,  we  were  all 
hauled  safe  to  land. 

<;Oh!  how  the  dear  children  did  cling  to  me !  They  told  me  that 
they  saw  great  alligators  come  up  and  look  at  them ;  but,  poor 
things !  their  terrible  situation  would  make  them  magnify  a  float- 
ing tree  into  an  alligator.     Horses,  cows,  sheep,  and  all  kinds  of 


320  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

animals,  were  hurried  along  the  waters  to  the  sea.  I  wonder 
whence  all  this  body  of  fresh  water  can  come  from  !  We  had  no 
previous  rains,  and  yet  thousands  and  thousands  of  acres  were 
covered  ten,  fifteen,  and  twenty  feet  deep  with  these  floods. 

"I  brought  Mr.  Lacey's  family  to  my  own  house.  You  know, 
my  dear  lady,  how  fond  I  am  of  children.  I  take  care  of  them, 
and  they  assist  me,  until  their  father  shall  have  got  another  habita- 
tion to  take  them  to.  Some  poor  creatures  expired  just  as  help 
reached  them.  They  got  on  to  houses,  barns,  stacks,  and  trees,  and 
were  often  swept  off  all  these  resting-places.  Many  persons  were 
drowned ;  many  lost  all  their  property.  We  were  all  fearful  at 
one  time  that  we  should  be  swallowed  up.  Part  of  the  hill  on 
which  my  cottage  stands  began  to  cave  away,  and  has  left  a  cliff 
several  feet  high  for  a  long  distance.  I  was  very  near  losing  my 
own  life  ;  for  I  was  standing  on  the  verge  of  the  hill  when  a  part 
of  my  own  field  close  by  my  feet  caved  in,  and  was  swept  away  by 
the  flood.  It  seemed  to  melt  away  like  sugar  in  a  cup  ;  but,  God 
be  praised  !  I  just  escaped  falling  with  it.  You  may  believe  that 
it  terrified  me. 

"  I  have  about  twenty  acres  of  land  from  my  dear  friend,  Mrs, 
Palmer,  who  sends  me  one  man  to  help  me  in  the  cultivation  of  it. 
Some  have  lost  all ;  my  loss  is  estimated  at  about  fifty  pounds. 
Every  thing  is  now  so  dear  in  the  colony  that  my  little  stock  in 
my  shop  is  as  much  as  doubled  in  its  value  ;  so  that  my  loss  in  one 
way  will  be  made  up  in  another. 

"We  are  almost  afraid  of  starvation,  on  account  of  the  many 
thousand  bushels  of  Indian  corn  carried  away  by  the  flood.  This 
corn,  mixed  with  a  little  wheat,  makes  most  excellent  bread.  You 
may  imagine,  dear  lady,  how  we  suffer,  when  I  state  that  most  of 
the  wheat  then  in  the  ground  was  completely  rooted  up  and  carried 
away  like  sea-weed.  All  manner  of  grain  has  become  very  dear. 
Government  has  issued  a  certain  quantity  for  each  sufferer  for 
seed-corn. 

"  Clothing  of  all  kinds  is  very  scarce  ;  but  whilst  I  am  writing, 
news  has  just  arrived  that  a  ship  has  providentially  come  into  port 
laden  with  a  vast  supply,  so  that  it  will  soon  be  the  cheapest  thing 
we  can  get.  I  should  have  done  great  things  this  year  but  for  the 
flood  ;  but  I  have  every  reason  to  be  thankful  for  that  which  is  left 
for  me. 

"  My  prayers,  dear  lady,  are  always  for  your  happiness,  and  for 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  32 1 

the  good  of  all  your  dear  family.  Pray  God  that  I  may  have  the 
comfort  to  hear  from  you  again  !  It  is  the  comfort  of  heaven  to 
me  to  hear  that  you  and  yours  are  well.  Give  my  dutiful  thanks 
to  that  dear  lady,  Mrs.  Sleorgin,  for  the  handsome  present  of  books 
which  she  has  sent  me,  and  for  the  letter  of  good  advice  which 
accompanied  it.  Assure  her,  dear  madam,  that  I  endeavour  to 
follow  her  advice  every  day.  How  thankful  ought  I  to  be  to  God 
that  I  have  such  dear  friends  who  care  for  me  ! 

"  My  health  at  times  is  not  good,  and  I  am  still  very  thin.  Tell 
Doctor  Stebbing  that  I  walk  every  day  farther  than  the  space 
between  his  house  and  Nacton  Street.  God  bless  him  !  I  have 
got  several  packages  of  curiosities  for  him.  The  greatest  pleasure 
I  have  in  this  country  is  the  hope  of  hearing  from  you,  dear  lady. 
I  shall  feed  upon  this  hope  for  the  next  twelve  months  ;  and  I 
assure  you,  when  your  letters  do  arrive,  I  am  just  as  delighted  as 
a  child  would  be  to  hear  from  an  affectionate  parent. 

"  Give  my  love  and  duty  to  my  master,  and  all  the  young  people 
who  may  chance  to  know  my  name,  and  ever  believe  me  to  be 

u  Your  affectionate  servant, 

"Margaret  Catciipole. 
"johtt  cobbold,  esq., 
"  Cliff,  Ipswich." 

The  last  letter  received  from  Margaret  Catchpole  is  also  dated 
from  Richmond  Hill.  It  breathes  the  same  affectionate  attachment 
and  anxiety,  and  is  given  here  as  worthy  of  the  same  attention  as 
the  former  ones  : — 

"Richmond  Hill, 

"September  lsl,  1811. 

"  Honoured  Madam, — On  the  8th  of  August  of  this  year,  1811, 
I  received  my  cedar  case  that  Captain  Prichard  should  have  brought. 
It  is  almost  two  years  ago  since  he  landed  the  troops  at  Sydney. 
Mrs.  Palmer,  my  ever  constant  friend,  took  charge  of  it  for  me, 
until  I  was  enabled  to  go  down  myself.  "When  I  received  tidings 
of  its  arrival,  I  set  off  from  my  cottage,  and  walked  the  whole 
way,  leaving  the  eldest  child  I  took  from  the  flood  to  take  care  of 
my  house.  It  is  full  fifty  miles  from  Richmond  Hill  to  Sydney. 
Mrs.  Palmer  could  not  think  where  the  case  could  have  been  all 
that  time.  But  your  letter,  my  dear  madam,  has  set  all  our  minds 
easy  upon  the  subject. 


32  2  THE   HISTORY    OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

"  At  first  I  thought  it  was  the  case,  and  all  the  things  I  sent 
you,  come  back  again.  But  bless  you,  dear  lady,  for  thinking  of 
me  !  I  was  greatly  rejoiced  when  I  found  that  yot»  had  received 
the  birds  quite  safe,  and  that  they  gave  you  such  pleasure.  Every- 
thing that  you  have  sent  me  is  quite  safe,  and  so  delightfully 
packed,  that  I  could  see  your  own  dear  handiwork  in  the  whole 
process.  All  are,  I  assure  you,  very  acceptable  to  me  ;  and  many 
thousand  thanks  do  I  give  for  them.  I  never  can  feel  sufficiently 
thankful  to  heaven  and  you. 

"  How  deeply  do  I  feel  the  loss  of  dear  Mrs.  Sleorgin !  With 
God's  help,  I  will  endeavour  to  follow  her  good  advice  to  the  day 
of  my  own  departure,  and  then  I  shall  meet  her  again.  My  loss 
is,  I  am  persuaded,  her  own  gain.  Her  blessings  have  come  here, 
and  will  be  fruitful  to  her  own  good  soul  in  a  happier  world.  I 
am  very  fond  of  reading  those  good  books  which  she  has  sent  me, 
and  I  shall  always  be  reminded  of  the  benevolent  donor. 

"Dear  lady,  I  am  grieved  to  hear  of  the  death  of  poor  Miss 
Anne  that  was.  She  was  always  the  most  meek-spirited  of  all  the 
young  ladies.  Master  Rowland  was  always  my  favourite.  He  was 
born  in  those  happy  days  when  I  lived  with  you  ;  and  he,  too,  is 
gone.  Your  letter  conveys  very  anxious  tidings;  and  though 
joyful  to  me  to  see  your  dear  handwriting,  yet  I  grieve  to  find 
that  you  have  been  so  ill.  Oh  !  if  there  was  anything  in  this 
country  that  would  do  you  good,  however  difficult  it  might  be  to 
be  obtained,  I  would  not  cease  using  all  my  efforts  until  I  had  got 
it  for  you.  If  I  can  find  anything  at  any  time  which  may  be  new 
to  you,  and  please  your  dear,  good  mind,  anything  you  have  not 
heard  of  before,  what  pleasure  it  will  be  to  me ! 

"  Oh  !  never  can  I  be  dutiful  or  grateful  enough  to  you  for  your 
goodness  to  me.  God  preserve  you  long  to  be  a  blessing  to  your 
dear  family  and  friends  ! 

"  I  am  ashamed,  my  dear  madam,  to  send  this  hasty  scribble  into 
your  hands,  but  the  ship  is  about  to  sail  directly,  and  I  am  hard 
pressed  for  time.  I  am  pleased  to  think  that  you  got  my  long  list 
of  dried  plants  and  birds.  I  am  sorry  the  insects  were  not  better 
fastened  in  the  case  ;  I  will  attend  particularly  to  your  instructions 
about  them  for  the  future.  I  am  living  alone,  as  I  was  when  I 
last  wrote  to  you,  and  am  getting  on  well,  in  a  very  honest  and 
independent  way  of  life.  People  wonder  why  I  do  not  marry.  I 
cannct  forget  my  late  trials,  troubles,  and  horrors,  and  I  dread 


THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  323 

forming  any  acquaintance  with  any  man.     I  was  happy  before  such 

notions  entered  my  mind,  and  I  have  been  comparatively  happy 

since  I  have  had  no  more  notions  of  the  same  sort.     So  I  am  single 

and  free. 

"The  cap  you  have  sent  me,  which  you  say  is  a  great  favourite 

of  yours,  I  put  on  last  evening,  and  drank  my  tea  in  it,  with  some 

tears  of  reflection.     My  heart  was  so  full,  to  think  that  the  work 

of  your  own  hands,  and  that  which  had  graced  your  own  head, 

should  cover  such  an  unworthy  one  as  mine,  it  made  me  feel  humble 

and  sorrowful,  as  well  as  joyful  and   thankful.     I   must  hastily 

conclude  this  letter,  as  the  messenger  calls  for  any  ship  letters  for 

Sydney.     May  the  blessings  and  thanks  of  your  grateful  servant 

reach  your  dear  heart,  from  the  soul  of, 

"  Your  ever  devoted  servant, 

"Margaret  Catchpole. 
"J.  Cobbold,  Esq., 

"Cliff,  Ipswich." 

It  is  now  time  that  our  attention  should  be  recalled  to  one 
whose  conduct  has,  we  trust,  already  gained  him  a  place  in  the 
reader's  esteem,  and  who  after  all  must  be  looked  upon  as  the 
true  hero  of  our  simple  story.  John  Barry  (now  most  worthy 
to  have  that  old  English  title  of  Esquire  attached  to  his  name,  as 
being  the  highest  which  was  acknowledged  in  the  settlement,  under 
the  governor)  had,  as  the  reader  will  remember,  arrived  at  ISTew 
South  Wales,  and  settled  at  Liberty  Plains.  He  was  among  the 
earliest  free  settlers  in  the  land,  and  was  a  man  of  such  firmness 
and  steadiness  of  character,  of  such  integrity  and  perseverance, 
that  he  succeeded  far  beyond  his  own  most  sanguine  expectations, 
and  established  for  himself  such  a  character  for  probity,  sagacity, 
and  general  worth,  that  he  was  consulted  upon  all  the  most  interest- 
ing concerns  of  the  colony.  He  it  was  who  suggested  to  Governor 
King  the  first  idea  of  establishing  the  "Female  Orphan  Asylum,'' 
and  proposed  attaching  one  hundred  acres  of  land  as  a  marriage 
portion  for  the  children.  He  it  was  who  laid  the  second  stone  of 
St.  John's  Church,  Paramatta.  He  built  the  first  freetrader  that 
was  ever  launched  form  Port  Jackson.  That  he  prospered  it  is 
needless  to  declare,  because  industry  and  integrity,  with  activity  of 
mind,  intelligence,  and  sincerity,  must  prosper  in  any  place.  He 
was  a  merchant  as  well  as  a  great  corn-grower  :  he  was  also,  as  we 
have  before  stated,  the  Government  contractor  for  lands.     He  never 

21 


324  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

caballed  «vith  any  one  party  against  another,  for  the  sake  of  increas- 
ing the  price  of  the  land,  but  honestly,  in  a  straightforward  way, 
stated  the  price  per  acre,  the  quantities  that  parties  might  have, 
and  the  money  expected  in  a  given  time.  He  had  sold  for  the 
Government  many  thousand  acres  of  the  finest  tract  of  land, 
which  bordered  upon  the  river  Hawkesbury,  and  retained  a  portion 
for  himself  at  Windsor,  by  the  Green  Hills,  for  which  he  strictly 
paid  the  highest  price  that  was  then  given  for  land  in  that  district. 

His  residence,  called  Windsor  Lodge,  was  situated  on  a  ver} 
commanding  spot  upon  the  south  bank  of  the  river.  At  a  shorv 
distance  from  the  water  he  had  built  very  large  granaries,  capable 
of  holding  an  immense  quantity  of  grain,  and  this  spot  became  the 
great  corn-mart  of  the  country  ;  the  grain  was  thence  transported 
to  the  coast,  and  supplied  every  port  connected  with  the  colony, 
The  Hawkesbury  is  a  noble  river,  particularly  opposite  to  Windsor 
Lodge,  the  house,  or  rather  mansion,  of  the  owner  of  the  Green 
Hills  around.  If  real  worth  and  talent,  if  public  and  private 
benevolence,  with  the  most  expansive  views  of  men  and  things, 
together  with  acts  of  such  virtue  and  dignity  as  speak  the  spirit  of 
true  nobility,  could  be  found  in  any  one,  they  existed  in  the  mind 
and  heart  of  that  youth,  wrho  left  the  shores  of  old  England  a 
simple,  single-minded  Suffolk  farmer's  son,  to  become  a  man  of 
wealth  and  goodness  in  a  distant  land. 

It  is  true  that  no  chivalric  deed  of  arms  signalised  his  career  : 
he  was  an  enterprising,  but  a  peaceful  man  ;  he  could  boast  no 
long  line  of  ancestry  higher  or  more  exalted  than  himself.  His 
parents  were  good,  honest,  and  virtuous  people,  and  their  son  bore 
the  same  character,  but  with  the  possession  of  superior  informa- 
tion ;  and  may  we  not,  in  some  measure,  trace  the  origin  of  all 
this  man's  virtues  and  good  qualities  to  that  passion  which  still,  as 
it  was  in  the  olden  times,  is  the  parent  and  prompter  of  all  that  is 
great  and  noble,  all  that  is  gentle  ;  all,  in  short,  that  distinguishes 
man  from  the  brutes  that  perish  ?  Love  dwelt,  a  pure  and  holy 
flame,  in  the  breast  of  this  young  man  ;  and  change  of  scene, 
change  of  condition,  increase  of  knowledge,  of  wealth,  and  of 
circumstances — in  short,  circumstances  which  would  have  changed 
almost  any  other  being — changed  not  him. 

It  may  seem  strange  to  many  that  Mr.  Barry  should  have  been 
so  long  a  leading  man  in  the  colony,  and  in  constant  communication 
with  England,  and  never  have  heard  of  the  fate  of  Margaret  Catch- 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  325 

pole.  But  when  they  understand  that  all  notice  of  her  career  had 
been  studiously  excluded  from  the  correspondence  of  his  friends  in 
England  ;  and,  moreover,  that  convicts  of  all  classes,  when  they 
came  to  Botany  Bay,  were  sent  to  the  northward  to  be  employed 
on  the  Government  stores,  and  that  the  Hawkesbury  was  devoted 
principally  to  free  labourers  and  settlers,  and  that  the  line  of  de- 
marcation between  convict  and  free  settler  was  extremely  strict, 
their  surprise  will,  in  a  great  degree,  cease. 

Beloved  and  respected  by  all,  as  John  Barry  was,  tho  wonder 
with  all  was  that  he  never  married.  With  every  comfort  around 
him,  with  health  and  cheerfulness,  a  goodly  person,  great  repute, 
and  wealth  scarcely  equalled  by  any  one  in  the  colony,  he  still 
remained  a  lone  man  ;  and  but  that  he  evinced  a  kind,  benevolent, 
and  friendly  disposition  towards  all  their  sex,  the  females  would 
have  set  him  down  as  a  cold  ascetic.  He  was  far  from  being  this 
kind  of  person.  Love  was  the  ruling  principle  of  his  life  ;  and 
though  he  had  himself  suffered  so  much  from  disappointment  that 
he  never  had  the  slightest  inclination  to  address  his  affection  to 
another,  yet  he  encouraged  social  and  domestic  virtues  in  others, 
and  advised  many  not  to  follow  his  bachelor  example.  His  own 
sisters  he  had  portioned  off  handsomely  ;  and  one  of  his  greatest 
relaxations  was  to  visit  their  abodes  and  to  delight  in  their  happi- 
ness and  prosperity. 

In  the  year  1811,  Mr.  John  Barry  was  visited  with  a  deep 
affliction,  in  the  loss  of  one  of  his  sisters,  who  died  of  fever,  leaving 
a  husband  and  a  young  family  of  seven  children.  But  how  surely 
does  good  spring  out  of  seeming  evil !  Fraught  as  this  event  was 
with  the  most  poignant  grief  to  John  Barry,  it  was,  nevertheless, 
the  ultimate  cause  of  the  consummation  of  all  his  hopes,  and  the 
completion  of  that  happiness  which  he  had  so  richly  earned.  Deeply 
desiring  the  welfare  of  his  sister's  children,  and  seeing  the  forlorn 
condition  to  which  they  were  reduced  by  the  death  of  their  excellent 
mother,  he  at  once  acted  with  an  energy  and  discretion  which  the 
afflicted  husband  could  not  command.  He  sought  to  obtain  as 
speedily  as  possible  some  respectable  person  to  take  charge  of  the 
family,  and  he  remembered  that  Mrs.  Palmer  had  mentioned  to 
him  a  valuable  person,  whom  she  had  sent  to  Richmond  Hill,  to 
take  charge  of  [some  motherless  children  related  to  herself.  He 
therefore  went  down  to  Sydney  immediately,  and  obtained  an 
interview  with  that  lady  at  the  Orphan  Asylum. 


326  THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

"  I  think,  my  dear  madam,  you  mentioned  to  me,  two  or  threo 
years  ago,  that  you  lost  a  relative  who  left  a  young  family,  and 
that  you  sent  a  confidential  female  to  superintend  and  take  care  of 
the  children?" 

"  I  did,  sir,  and  a  most  valuable  treasure  she  has  always  been 
to  me.  She  lived  with  the  husband  of  my  relative  for  two  years 
as  housekeeper  and  general  superintendent  of  his  establishment. 
He  is,  however,  since  dead." 

"And  she ?" 

"  Is  still  living  at  Richmond  Hill,  but  perfectly  independent.  It 
was  a  curious  and  unprecedented  fact  in  this  country,  for  a  young 
woman  in  her  situation  to  refuse  the  hand  of  the  very  man  whose 
family  she  managed  ;  but  she  did  so,  and  to  her  honour  and  credit ; 
for  the  love  she  bore  me  she  left  his  service  and  returned  to  live 
with  me.  I  was,  as  you  may  conceive,  greatly  pleased  with  her, 
and  took  her  still  more  closely  into  my  confidence.  Two  years 
after  this  the  husband  of  my  late  relative  died,  leaving  his  whole 
property  at  Richmond  Hill  to  me,  for  the  benefit  of  his  children, 
and  in  case  of  their  death,  to  me  and  my  heirs  for  ever.  The  poor 
children,  always  sickly,  died  in  this  house,  and  the  property  is  now 
let  to  a  most  respectable  tenant.  I  reserved  twenty  acres  and  a 
cottage  for  this  young  woman,  who  had  acted  so  generously  ;  and 
I  do  not  scruple  to  tell  you,  that  though  she  pays  a  nominal  rent  to 
me  for  the  cottage  and  land,  yet  I  have  always  put  that  rent  into 
the  bank  in  her  name,  with  the  full  intention  of  leaving  her  the 
property  I  mention." 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  the  information  which  you 
give  me.  You  have  heard  that  I  have  lost  my  youngest  sister 
Maria.  She  leaves  a  disconsolate  husband  with  seven  young  chil- 
dren, the  eldest  only  eight  years  of  age.  My  object  in  asking  about 
this  person  was  to  secure  her  as  guardian  of  these  dear  children  ; 
and  the  manner  in  which  you  have  spoken  of  her  convinces  me 
that  she  would  be  eligible  and  valuable,  if  she  were  but  at  liberty 
to  come.  Do  you  think  you  could  persuade  her  to  undertake 
the  duty?  I  would  send  a  man  to  farm  her  land  for  her,  and 
devote  the  whole  rent  to  her  remuneration." 

"I  am  afraid  she  would  not  leave  her  present  home  and  occupa- 
tion. She  keeps  a  small  store  and  lives  entirely  by  herself,  except 
that  a  little  girl,  whose  life  she  saved  from  the  great  flood,  assists 
her.     You  would  have  been  very  much  pleased  with  her  had  you 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  327 

witnessed  her  brave  conduct  in  risking  her  own  life  in  the  attempt, 
to  save  a  Mr.  Lacey  and  his  family,  who  on  that  day  were  carried 
away  in  their  barn.  She  put  to  shame  the  spirits  of  several  men 
who  stood  looking  on  the  waters,  and  refused  to  go  to  the  assist- 
ance of  those  poor  creatures.  She  would  positively  have  gone 
alone,  and  entered  the  boat  with  the  full  determination  to  do  so, 
if  they  refused  to  accompany  her.  They  were  at  length  fairly 
shamed  into  going  along  with  her  to  the  spot  where  the  barn  had 
grounded,  and  thus  actually  rescued  the  whole  family  from  their 
perilous  situation.  I  wonder  you  did  not  see  the  account  of  it  in 
the  Sydney  Gazette." 

"You  interest  me  very  much  in  this  person,"  said  Mr.  Barry ; 
"  she  must  be  a  very  extraordinary  woman." 

"  She  is,  indeed.  But  this  is  not  the  most  extraordinary  feat  of 
her  life.  She  is  a  convict,  and  was  transported  to  this  country  for 
stealing  a  horse,  and  riding  it  a  distance  of  seventy  miles  in  one 
night." 

"  But  how  came  you  to  know  her  ?  " 

"  She  was  recommended  to  me  by  Captain  Sumpter,  who  con- 
veyed her  in  his  ship  to  this  country,  and  gave  her  an  excellent 
character.  She  was  so  highly  mentioned  in  his  letters,  that  I  took 
her  into  the  establishment  at  the  Female  Orphan  Asylum,  and 
found  her  all  that  I  could  desire,  and  much  more  than  I  could  have 
had  any  reason  to  expect." 

"  Do  you  know  what  her  character  was  in  England  ? " 

"  Her  whole  history  has  been  laid  before  me.  And  this  I  can 
conscientiously  declare,  that  she  was  guilty  of  but  one  great  error 
which  betrayed  her  into  the  commission  of  that  offence  for  which 
she  was  sent  to  this  country.  Her  besetting  sin  was  misplaced 
affection,  an  unaccountable  attachment  to  an  unworthy  man.  She 
stole  a  horse  from  her  master  to  meet  this  lover  in  London,  and 
was  sentenced  to  death  for  so  doing.  She  was  reprieved,  owing 
to  her  previous  good  character,  and  would  never  have  been  sent  to 
this  country,  had  she  not  been  persuaded  by  the  same  man  to 
break  out  of  prison.  She  effected  her  escape  from  gaol,  and  would 
have  got  clear  out  of  the  country,  but  for  the  activity  of  a  young 
man  (by-the-bye,  a  namesake  of  yours)  in  the  coast-guard,  who 
shot  her  lover  in  a  skirmish  on  the  sea-shore ;  and  then  she  was 
retaken,  tried  a  second  time,  and  a  second  time  condemned  to 
death  ;  but  her  sentence  was  commuted  to  transportation  for  life," 


328  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

On  looking  on  the  countenance  of  Mr.  Barry  at  this  moment, 
Mrs.  Palmer  was  surprised  to  see  it  deadly  pale. 

"  You  are  ill,  sir,"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  pray  let  me  send  for  assist- 
ance." 

"No,  no,  I  thank  you;  I  shall  be  better  presently.  A  little 
faintness  came  over  me,  doubtless  from  the  interest  I  feel  in  the 
history  you  have  related  to  me." 

With  great  effort  Mr.  Barry  commanded  himself,  as  he  said  in 
a  trembling  voice,  "  And  the  name  of  this  singular  person  is ?  " 

"Margaret  Catchpole,"  replied  Mrs.  Palmer,  as  he  seemed  to  pause. 

Overpowered  by  emotions  of  the  most  conflicting  kind,  Mr. 
Barry  was  completely  unmanned.  Accustomed  for  so  long  a  time 
to  smother  his  affections,  he  now  found  his  heart  bursting  with 
the  fulness  of  agony  at  finding  the  being  so  highly  recommended 
to  him,  and  one  whom  he  had  never  ceased  to  love — a  convict. 

"  Oh,  my  respected  friend  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  I  loved  that  woman 
long  before  I  came  to  this  country.  I  love  her  still — I  confess  I 
love  her  now  ;  I  cannot,  I  do  not,  from  all  I  know  of  her,  and  from 
all  you  tell  me,  believe  her  to  be  an  abandoned  character  ; — but 
she  is  a  convict." 

"  Alas  !  she  is,"  replied  Mrs.  Palmer.  "  You  astonish,  you  amaze 
me,  Mr.  Barry.     Does  she  know  your  situation  in  this  country  1  " 

"I  should  think  not,  for  I  have  had  no  information  of  hers  up  to 
this  time.  You  must  know  that  I  would  have  brought  her  out  to 
this  country  as  my  wife,  but  she  was  then  attached  to  another. 
That  other,  I  fear,  was  shot  by  my  brother.  He  was  a  smuggler, 
and  my  brother  was  in  the  preventive-service.  She  may  not  retain 
any  feeling  towards  me  but  respect.'' 

"I  have  never  heard  her  mention  your  name,  nor  had  I  the 
slightest  hint  of  these  circumstances.  I  do  not  think  she  dreams 
of  your  existence.  This  is  a  large  country,  Mr.  Barry,  and  if  your 
name  and  fame  in  it  have  ever  reached  her  ear,  depend  upon  it 
she  does  not  think  that  you  are  the  person  who  once  addressed 
her.  But  if  she  should  hear  it,  I  can  tell  you  that  she  is  so  truly 
humble  a  creature,  that  she  would  think  it  presumption  even  to 
fancy  that  you  could  still  love  her.  She  is  the  meekest  and  most 
affectionate  creature  I  ever  knew." 

"  I  can  believe  it,  if  she  is  anything  like  what  I  remember  of  her  ; 
she  is  warm-hearted,  honest,  open,  and  sincere,  but  uneducated.'' 

"  She  is  all  the  first-mentioned,  but  far,  very  far  from  being  the 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  329 

last.  In  some  things  she  is  as  -well-informed  as  ourselves,  and  in 
the  best  of  all  books  she  is  really  well  read.  She  daily  reads  and 
understands  her  Bible.  Her  mistress,  copies  of  \vh03e  letters  I  can 
show  you,  instructed  her  with  her  own  children  ;  and  I  can  assure 
you,  that  in  nothing  but  the  want  of  station  is  she  inferior  to 
the  best  of  her  sex." 

After  the  first  struggles  of  his  emotion  were  over,  Mr.  Barry 
made  a  complete  confidante  of  Mrs.  Palmer,  and  at  once  revealed 
to  her  the  state  of  his  own  feelings  respecting  Margaret  ;  and  she 
fully  explained  to  him  what  had  been  the  excellent  conduct  of  the 
object  of  his  affection  since  her  residence  in  that  country.  After 
hearing  her  statement,  and  appearing  to  consider  within  himself  for 
a  brief  space,  he  said — 

' '  I  think  I  have  sufficient  interest  with  the  governor  to  obtain 
her  free  pardon.  If  you  can  furnish  me  with  the  numbers  of  the 
Sydney  Gazette  in  which  she  is  mentioned,  I  will  urge  upon  that 
humane  man  the  policy  of  rewarding  such  an  example  as  that  which 
she  set  in  rescuing  the  lives  of  Mr.  Lacey  and  his  family  from  the 
flood.  I  will  take  your  recommendation,  also,  to  the  governor, 
and  see  what  may  be  done.  In  the  meantime,  I  beg  you  to  take 
the  earliest  opportunity  of  mentioning  my  name  to  her  in  any 
manner  you  may  think  best.  My  mind  is  made  up.  If  I  procure 
her  pardon,  and  she  wrill  listen  to  me  favourably,  I  will  marry 
her.  You  may  tell  her  so,  if  you  find  her  favourably  disposed 
towards  me." 

That  very  day  the  good  Mrs.  Palmer  wrote  the  following  note 
to  Margaret  Catchpole  : — 

"Sydney,  September  21st,  1811. 
"My  good  Margaret, — I  desire  to  see  you  at  Sydney,  and  have 
sent  a  conveyance  for  you  that  you  may  not  be  oppressed  with 
the  journey.  I  have  something  particular  to  communicate,  but 
shall  not  tell  you  by  letter  what  it  is,  that  you  may  not  be  over- 
anxious. I  shall  simply  call  it  a  matter  of  most  momentous  busi- 
ness, which  concerns  both  you  and  me,  and  also  a  third  person. 
Your  attendance  here  will  greatly  facilitate  the  settlement  of  the 
affair.     And  in  the  meantime,  believe  me 

"  Your  sincere  friend, 

"Eliza  Palmer." 
"  To  Margaret  Catchpole, 
"Richmond  Hill." 


330  THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

It  was  indeed  a  great  piece  of  news  which  this  kind-hearted 
woman  had  to  communicate  to  her  husband.  Still  he  was  not 
so  surprised  as  she  expected  him  to  have  been. 

"I  have  always  thought,  from  his  manner,  that  Mr.  Barry  had 
some  strong  and  secret  attachment  in  England.  I  fancied  that  he 
was  in  love  with  some  damsel  of  high  birth  in  his  native  country  ; 
and  truly  do  I  think  him  worthy  of  any  lady's  hand.  I  little 
dreamed,  however,  of  his  real  position.  He  is  a  good  man,  and 
will  make  a  most  excellent  member  of  our  highest  society,  and  will 
exalt  any  woman  he  make  take  to  be  wife.  But  how  do  you  think 
Margaret  is  affected  towards  him  ? " 

"It  is  that  very  thing  I  wish  to  know.  I  cannot  really  tell. 
She  has  been  as  great  an  exclusive  in  her  way  as  he  has  been  in 
his  ;  and  I  confess  that  my  present  opinion  is,  that  she  will  never 
marry." 

"  She  would  really  be  to  blame  if  she  did  not.  I  think  this 
match  would  tend  to  soothe  that  growing  distance  and  disrespect 
which  exists  between  the  emancipated  and  the  free  settlers.  At 
all  events,  it  is  highly  honourable  and  noble  in  our  excellent  friend." 

"  I  think  she  wrould  be  wrong  to  refuse  such  an  offer.  But  she 
has  shown  herself  so  independent,  that  unless  a  real  affection  should 
exist,  I  feel  persuaded  that  she  will  live  at  Richmond  Hill  in 
preference  to  Windsor  Lodge.  I  expect  her  here  to-morrow,  as 
I  have  sent  the  chaise  for  her." 

Mr.  Barry  repaired  to  the  governor's  house  and  had  a  long 
interview  with  him.  He  had  some  general  business  to  speak  of 
and  several  public  matter  to  arrange  ;  but  he  made  haste  to  come 
to  the  case  of  a  female  convict,  Margaret  Catchpole,  which  he  laid 
before  the  governor  with  such  zeal,  that  the  latter  could  not  help 
observing  the  deep  interest  he  took  in  her  behalf. 

"Has  your  honour  seen  the  nature  of  the  offence  for  which  she 
was  transported,  or  ever  heard  of  the  motive  which  prompted  it  ? 
I  have  brought  testimony  sufficient  to  corroborate  my  account  of 
her.  I  have  the  letters  of  recommendation  for  good  conduct  during 
her  voyage  to  this  country.  I  have  the  highest  character  to  give 
of  her  all  the  time  she  has  been  with  Mrs.  Palmer,  and  a  particular 
instance  of  personal  courage  and  self-devotion,  in  saving  the  lives 
of  a  whole  family  in  the  late  dreadful  flood.  Her  present  situation 
is  so  highly  respectable,  and  exhibits  such  an  instance  of  moral  and 
religious  influence  triumphant  over  the  dangers  of  a  degraded  posi- 


THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  33 1 

tion,  that,  when  I  heard  of  it,  I  could  not  fail  to  lay  it  before 
your  honour." 

"  And  a  most  admirable  advocate  would  you  have  made  at  the 
bar,  Mr.  Barry.  You  have  pleaded  this  young  woman's  case  with 
such  fervour,  that  positively,  but  for  your  well-known  character 
in  the  colony,  I  should  suspect  you  had  some  private  interest  in 
obtaining  her  pardon.  I  do  think,  however,  that  the  case  is  a  very 
proper  one  for  merciful  consideration,  and  highly  deserving  of  the 
exercise  of  that  prerogative  which  the  Government  at  home  has 
attached  to  my  power  ;  and  I  shall  certainly  grant  a  free  pardon. 
But,  without  any  intention  of  being  too  inquisitive,  may  I  candidly 
tell  you,  that  from  the  animated  manner  in  which  you  have  spoken 
of  the  virtues  of  this  said  female,  I  am  induced  to  ask,  why  you 
have  taken  such  a  peculiarly  personal  interest  in  her  favour  ? '' 

"  I  will  honestly  confess  at  once  that  I  ask  it  upon  the  most  self- 
interested  grounds  possible  :  I  intend  to  offer  her  my  hand." 

The  governor  looked  all  astonishment.  "  What  ?  Do  I  really 
hear  it,  or  is  it  a  dream  ?  You,  Mr.  Barry,  the  highest,  and 
wealthiest,  and  most  prudent  bachelor  in  the  settlement,  one  who 
might  return  to  England  and  be  one  of  her  wealthiest  esquires  ; 
and  here,  enjoying  more  reputation,  with  less  responsibility,  than 
the  governor — you  about  to  form  a  matrimonial  alliance  with " 

The  governor  paused  ;  he  found  his  own  eloquence  carrying  him 
too  far  ;  he  considered  the  character  of  the  man  before  him,  knew 
the  excellence  of  his  principles  and  his  heart,  and  dreaded  to 
wound  his  generous  soul ;  he  changed  his  tone,  but  not  the  earnest- 
ness of  his  appeal. 

"  Have  you  well  weighed  this  matter,  Mr.  Barry  ?  Have  you 
consulted  with  your  friends  around  you?  You  are  not  the  man 
to  be  caught  by  outward  appearances,  nor  to  be  smitten  by  passing 
beauty  without  some  qualities  of  domestic  happiness  arising  from 
temper,  mind,  character,  and  disposition.  How  long  has  this 
attachment  been  in  existence  ?  " 

"From  my  youth,  your  honour:  I  have  not  yet  seen  her  since 
that  happy  time  when  she  was  a  free  woman  in  my  native  land, 
enjoying  that  honest  liberty  which  is  the  pride  and  glory  of 
England's  virtuous  daughters  of  every  station  in  the  land.  I  was 
then  in  her  own  condition  of  life.  We  had  both  to  earn  our  bread 
by  the  labour  of  our  hands  ;  we  both  respected  each  other  :  would  I 
could  say  that  we  had  both  loved  each  other  !  I  should  not  like  to 


332  THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

see  her  again  until  T  can  look  upon  her  as  a  free  woman,  and  it  is 
in  your  power  to  make  her  that  happy  being,  upon  whom  I  may 
look,  as  I  once  did,  with  the  warmest  affection." 

"  I  ask  no  more,  Mr.  Barry ;  I  ask  no  more.  You  have  been  an 
enigma  to  many  of  us  ;  it  is  now  solved.  It  gives  me  real  pleasure 
to  oblige  you,  and  in  such  a  cause  as  thi3  the  best  feelings  of  my 
heart  are  abounding  for  your  happiness.  Her  freedom  is  granted. 
To  whom  shall  I  commit  the  pardon  ? " 

"Will  you  permit  me  to  take  it  ?  " 

"Most  gladly." 

The  governor's  secretary  was  immediately  summoned,  and  the 
form  of  pardon  duly  signed,  sealed,  and  delivered  to  the  joyful 
hand  of  Mr.  John  Barry. 

"  And  now,"  said  the  governor,  "  permit  me  to  say  that  we  shall 
at  all  times  be  happy  to  receive  you  at  Sydney  ;  and  in  any  Way 
in  which  you  can  find  my  countenance  and  support  serviceable, 
I  shall  always  be  ready  to  give  them." 

A  cordial  shake  of  the  hand  was  mutually  exchanged,  and  Mr. 
Barry  returned  that  day  to  Windsor  Lodge  one  of  the  happiest,  as 
far  as  hope  and  good  deeds  can  make  a  man  so,  on  this  changing 
earth. 

He  had  communicated  his  success  to  Mrs.  Palmer  before  he  left 
Sydney.  The  green  hills  of  Hawkesbury  never  looked  so  bright 
in  his  eye  before,  his  house  never  so  pleasant. 

His  servants  saw  an  evident  change  in  his  manner,  from  the 
anguish  of  mourning  for  the  loss  of  a  sister,  to  what  they  could 
not  quite  comprehend  ;  a  state  of  liveliness  they  had  never  before 
witnessed  in  him.  Their  master  never  appeared  so  interested  about 
the  house,  the  rooms,  the  garden,  and  the  green  lawn.  He  was 
'  most  unusually  moved  ;  he  gave  orders  for  the  preparation  of  his 
house  to  receive  his  brother-in-law's  children,  to  the  great  amaze- 
ment of  his  female  domestics,  who  could  not  conceive  how  a 
bachelor  would  manage  such  a  family. 

He  did  not  breathe  a  word  of  his  intention  to  any  of  his  domestics  ; 
but  every  0113  observed  a  great  change  in  his  behaviour,  which 
all  his  habitual  quietude  could  not  entirely  conceal. 

He  wandered  down  to  his  favourite  spot  upon  the  river,  and 
indulged  in  a  reverie  of  imaginary  bliss,  which,  to  say  the  truth, 
was  more  real  with  him  than  with  many  thousands  who  fancy  them- 
selves in  love. 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  333 

Margaret  arrived  in  Sydney  on  the  day  following  the  receipt 
of  Mrs.  Palmer's  letter.  She  was  a  little  excited  at  the  tone  of 
that  epistle,  but  much  surprised  at  being  received  in  a  manner  to 
which  she  had  never  been  accustomed.  Margaret  saw  in  a  moment, 
from  Mrs.  Palmer's  manner,  that  she  had  something  to  communicate 
of  a  very  different  kind  to  what  she  had  before  mentioned,  and  at 
once  said — 

"  I  perceive,  my  dear  lady,  that  you  have  something  to  say  to 
me  which  concerns  me  more  than  you  wish  to  let  me  see  it  does, 
and  yet  you  cannot  conceal  it.  You  need  not  be  afraid  to  tell 
me  ;  good  or  bad,  I  am  prepared  for  it,  but  suspense  is  the  most 
painful. " 

"The  newrs  I  have  to  tell  you  then  is  good;  to  be  at  once 
declared — it  is  your  free  pardon  !  " 

"This  is  news  indeed,  my  dearest  lady;  almost  too  good  news 
— it  comes  so  unlooked  for  ;  forgive  my  tears."     Margaret  wept  for 

"  Shall  I  again  see  dear  old  England?  Shall  T  again  see  my  dear 
friends,  my  mistress,  my  uncle,  aunt,  and  family  ?  Oh  !  how  shall 
I  ever  repay  your  kindness  1  Oh  !  what  can  I  say  to  you  for  your 
goodness  ?  On  my  knees,  I  thank  God,  my  good  friend,  and  say, 
God  be  praised  for  His  mercies,  and  bless  you,  the  instrument 
thereof  !  " 

"  You  may  thank  God  ;  but  you  must  not  bless  me,  Margaret, 
for  I  am  only  the  bearer  of  the  news.  I  have  not  even  got  the 
pardon  in  my  possession  ;  but  I  have  seen  it.  It  is  signed  by  the 
governor,  and  I  know  that  you  are  free." 

"  Oh  !  thanks,  dear  lady,  thanks  ! — but  is  it  not  to  Mr.  Palmer 
that  I  am  indebted  ?     You  must  have  had  something  to  do  with  it." 

"Nothing  farther  than  the  giving  you  a  just  character  to  the 
governor  by  the  hand  of  a  gentleman,  who  has  interceded  with 
him,  and  has  pleaded  your  cause  successfully." 

"  Who  is  the  gentleman  ?     Do  I  know  him  1 " 

"Yes,  you  may  know  him  when  you  see  him.  He  read  the 
account  of  your  saving  the  family  of  the  Laceys  in  the  flood  ;  he 
listened  with  attention  to  your  former  history  :  he  does  not  live 
in  Sydney,  but  at  Windsor,  on  the  Hawkesbury  ;  yet,  from  his 
interest  with  the  governor,  he  obtained  your  pardon." 

"  Bless  the  dear  gentleman  !  How  shall  I  ever  be  grateful 
enough  to  him  ?     But  you  say  I  know  him  1 '' 


334  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

"  I  say  I  think  you  will.  I  know  you  did  once  know  him,  but 
you  have  not  seen  him  for  many  years." 

"  Who  can  it  be,  dear  lady  ?  You  do  not  mean  my  brother 
Charles?" 

"No." 

' '  Who  then  can  it  be  ?  Not  my  former  master,  or  any  of  his 
family?" 

"  No,  Margaret ;  I  must  be  plainer  with  you.  Do  you  remember 
a  young  man  of  the  name  of  Barry  ?  " 

"  John  Barry  !     Yes,  I  do.    What  of  him  ?     He  went  to  Canada. " 

"No,  he  did  not.  He  came  to  this  country,  has  lived  in  it  many 
years,  and  has  prospered  greatly.  He  is  in  the  confidence  of  the 
governor.  He  accidentally  discovered  you  were  in  the  country. 
He  it  was — yes,  he  it  was — who  went  that  very  hour  to  the 
governor,  and  I^have  no  doubt  asked  it  as  a  personal  favour  to 
himself  that  you  should  be  pardoned.  What  say  you  to  such  a 
man  ?  " 

"  All  that  I  can  say  is  to  bless  him  with  a  most  grateful  heart. 
Oh  !  dear  lady,  he  saved  my  life  once,  and  now  he  gives  me 
liberty  !  He  was  a  good  young  man  ;  too  good  for  such  as  I  to 
think  upon,  though  he  once  would  have  had  me  think  more  of  him. 
I  had  forgotten  all  but  his  kindness,  which  I  never  can  forget ;  and 
now  it  overwhelms  me  with  astonishment.  Is  he  married,  and 
settled  in  this  country  1 '' 

"  He  is  settled,  but  not  married.  He  has  been  a  prosperous 
man,  and  is  as  benevolent  as  he  is  rich  ;  but  he  never  married,  at 
which  we  have  all  wondered." 

This  declaration  made  Margaret  blush  :  a  deep  crimson  flush 
passed  over  her  cheeks,  and  was  succeeded  by  extreme  paleness. 
Her  heart  heaved  convulsively,  a  faintness  and  dizziness  came 
upon  her,  and  she  would  really  have  fallen  had  she  not  been 
supported  by  the  kind  attentions  of  her  benefactress. 

"He  has  kept  his  word  !  Oh,  Mrs,  Palmer  !  I  never  thought  to 
see  him  again.  I  mistook  the  country  he  left  me  for.  I  have  often 
thought  of  his  goodness  to  me  in  former  days.  I  am  now  indebted 
to  him  for  double  life  ! " 

"Margaret,  what  if  I  tell  you  that  for  you  only  has  he  kept 
himself  single  ? " 

"There  was  a  time  when  he  might  and  did  think  of  me;  but 
that  time  must  be  gone  by." 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLK  335 

"  I  tell  you,  he  loves  you  still." 

"  Impossible  !  Oh,  if  he  does  ! — but  it  is  impossible  I  Madam 
this  is  all  a  dream  !  " 

"  It  is  a  dream,  Margaret,  from  which  you  will  shortly  awake,  as 
he  is  in  the  house  at  this  moment  to  present  himself  with  the 
governor's  pardon  ! " 

11  Dear  lady,  pray  be  present  with  me ;  I  know  not  how  to  meet 
him!" 

The  door  just  then  opened,  and  in  came  Mr.  Barry,  with  the 
governor's  pardon  in  his  hand.  He  approached  Margaret,  as  she 
clung  to  Mrs.  Palmer,  agitated  beyond  measure.  She  regarded 
him  with  more  solemn  feelings  than  she  did  the  judge  who  con- 
demned her  twice  to  death.  She  dropped  upon  her  knees,  and  hid 
her  face  before  her  deliverer.  He  lifted  her  up  and  seated  her, 
and,  in  the  language  of  gentleness  and  tenderness,  addressed  her 
thus : — 

"  Margaret,  I  have  brought  you  a  free  pardon  from  the  governor. 
Need  I  remind  you  that  God  has  mercifully  sent  me  before  you 
in  this  instance  to  be  your  friend  ?  To  Him  I  know  you  will  give 
all  the  thanks  and  praises  of  a  grateful  heart." 

"To  Him  I  do  first,  sir  ;  and  to  you,  as  His  instrument,  in  the 
next  place.  I  am  afraid  to  look  upon  you,  and  I  am  unworthy  to 
be  looked  upon  by  you.     I  am  a " 

"  You  need  not  tell  me,  Margaret,  what  you  have  been.  I  know 
all.  Think  not  of  what  you  were,  but  what  you  are.  You  are  no 
longer  a  convict ;  you  are  no  longer  under  the  ban  of  disgrace  ; 
you  are  no  longer  under  the  sentence  of  the  offended  laws  of  man  ; 
you  are  now  a  free  subject ;  and  if  your  fellow-creatures  do  not 
all  forgive  you,  they  cannot  themselves  hope  for  forgiveness.  You 
are  at  liberty  to  settle  wherever  you  please." 

"  Oh  !  dear  sir  ;  and  to  you  I  owe  all  this  !  What  will  they  say 
to  you  in  England,  when  I  again  embrace  my  dear  friends  there, 
and  bless  you  for  the  liberty  thus  granted  me  1 " 

"Margaret,  hear  me  again.  Remember,  when  I  last  saw  you, 
I  told  you  then  what  I  dreaded,  if  you  refused  to  come  out  to  this 
country  with  me.  How  true  those  fears  were,  you  can  now  judge. 
You  made  a  choice  then  which  gave  me  anguish  to  be  surpassed 
only  by  the  present  moment.  You  speak  now  of  returning  to 
England.  You  have  got  your  pardon,  and  are  at  liberty  so  to  do. 
It  may  seem  ungenerous  to  me,  at  such  a  moment,  to  urge  your 


336  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

stay ;  but  hear  now  my  opinion  and  advice,  and  give  them  the 
weight  only  of  your  calm  judgment.  If  you  return  to  England 
take  my  word  for  it,  you  will  not  be  happy.  You  will  never  be 
as  happy  as  you  may  be  here.  I  speak  this  with  feelings  as  much 
alive  to  your  interest  now  as  they  were  when  I  last  parted  with 
you.  I  will  suppose  you  returned.  Your  own  good  heart  makes 
you  imagine  that  every  one  would  be  as  glad  to  see  you  there  as 
you  would  truly  be  to  see  them.  Your  own  heart  deceives  you. 
I  have  known  those  who  so  bitterly  lamented  their  return  to 
England,  that  they  have  come  again  to  settle  in  this  country, 
and  have  offended  those  friends  who  would  have  respected  them 
had  they  remained  here.  When  at  a  distance  they  felt  much  for 
them ;  but  when  they  came  near  to  them,  the  pride  of  society 
made  them  ashamed  of  those  who  had  been  convicts.  It  may  be 
that  some  would  be  glad  to  see  you  ;  your  good  mistress,  your 
uncle  and  aunt  :  but  circumstances  might  prevent  their  being 
able  to  do  you  any  great  service.  Your  former  mistress  has  a 
large  family,  your  uncle  the  same  ;  you  have  no  independence 
to  live  upon  there.  The  eye  of  envy  would  be  upon  you  if  you 
had  wealth,  and  detraction  would  be  busy  with  your  name. 
People  would  talk  of  your  sins,  but  would  never  value  you  for 
your  integrity.  You  would  probably  soon  wish  yourself  in  this 
country  again,  where  your  rising  character  would  be  looked  upon 
with  respect,  and  all  the  past  be  forgiven,  and  in  time  forgotten. 
Here  you  would  have  an  established  character  :  there  you  would 
always  be  thought  to  have  a  dubious  one.  Besides  all  this,  you 
are  here  prospering.  You  can  have  the  great  gratification  of 
relieving  the  necessities  of  your  aged  relatives,  and  of  obliging 
your  best  friends.  You  would,  believe  me,  be  looked  upon  by 
them  with  far  greater  respect  and  esteem  than  if  you  were  nearer 
to  them.  Think,  Margaret,  of  what  I  now  state,  and  divest  yourself 
of  that  too  great  idea  of  happiness  in  England.  You  are  at  liberty 
to  go  ;  but  you  will  enjoy  far  greater  liberty  if  you  stay  in  this 
country." 

"  What  you  say,  sir,  mjiy  be  true  in  some  respects  ;  but  I  think 
I  should  die  happy  if  I  once  more  saw  my  dear  friends  and 
relatives." 

"God  forbid  that  I  should  not  approve  your  feeling  !  I,  too, 
have  a  father,  and  mother,  and  brothers,  in  England,  but  I  hear 
from  them  continually,  and  they  rejoice  in  my  welfare.     I  love 


THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  337 

them  dearly  as  they  do  me.  Two  sisters  have  come  out  to  me,  and 
both  have  married  and  settled  in  the  country.  One  I  have  lost 
who  has  left  a  husband  and  seven  children  to  lament  her  loss.  I 
have  strong  ties,  you  see,  in  these  young  people,  to  bind  me  to 
this  country,  for  they  look  up  to  me  as  they  do  to  their  father. 
But  they  are  without  female  protection." 

"If,  my  dear  sir,  I  can  be  of  any  service  to  you  or  them  for  a 
term  of  years,  I  shall  feel  it  part  of  the  happiness  of  that  freedom 
you  have  obtained  for  me  to  abide  as  long  in  this  land.  But  I  own 
that  I  still  feel  that  I  should  like  to  return  one  day  to  England. 
I  am  very  grateful  for  all  your  goodness,  and  shall  ever  bless 
you  for  the  interest  you  have  taken  in  one  so  unworthy  your 
favour." 

"  Margaret,  I  am  deeply  interested  in  these  children.  They  have 
lost  their  mother,  my  sister.  Their  aunt,  now  resident  in  the 
colony,  has  ten  children  of  her  own,  and  it  would  not  be  fair  that 
she  should  take  seven  more  into  her  house.  The  young  man,  now 
left  a  widower,  is  in  such  a  delicate  state  of  health,  and  so  dis- 
consolate for  the  loss  of  his  wife,  that  I  do  not  think  he  will  be 
long  amongst  us.  These  circumstances  made  me  come  to  my  good 
friend  Mrs.  Palmer  for  assistance  and  advice.  Guess,  then,  my 
astonishment  to  hear  you  recommended  to  me  :  you,  above  all 
people  in  the  world,  whose  presence  I  could  have  wished  for, 
whose  gentleness  I  know,  and  who,  if  you  will,  can  make  both 
myself  and  all  these  children  happy." 

"My  dear  sir,  I  stand  in  a  very  different  position  with  regard 
to  yourself  to  what  I  formerly  did.  I  do  not  forget  that  to  your 
protecting  arm  I  owe  the  rescue  of  my  life  from  the  violence  of 
one  in  whom  my  misplaced  confidence  became  my  ruin  and  his 
own  death.  I  never  can  forget  that  to  you  I  am  a  second  time 
indebted  for  liberty,  and  that  which  will  sweeten  the  remainder  of 
my  days  :  the  consciousness  of  being  restored,  a  pardoned  penitent, 
to  virtuous  society.  But  I  cannot  forget  that  I  am  still  but  little 
better  than  a  slave  :  I  am  scarcely  yet  free.  I  am  not,  as  I  was 
when  you  first  offered  me  your  hand  and  heart,  upon  an  equality 
with  yourself.  How  then  can  you  ask  me  to  become  your  wife 
when  there  is  such  a  disparity  as  must  ever  make  me  feel  your 
slave  ?  No,  generous  and  good  man  !  I  told  you  formerly  that 
if  Laud  were  dead  I  might  then  find  it  in  my  heart  to  listen  to  your 
claims  j  but  I  never  thought  that  I  should   be  in   a  situation  so 


338  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

much  beneath  you  as  I  am,  so  very  different  to  that  which  I  once 
occupied." 

"  And  do  you  think,  Margaret,  that  I  can  ever  forget  that  I  was 
a  fellow-servant  with  you  at  the  Priory  Farm,  upon  the  banks  of  the 
Orwell  1  It  was  then  I  first  made  known  to  you  the  state  of  that 
heart  which,  as  I  told  you  long  ago,  would  never  change  towards 
you.  You  say  that  our  conditions  are  so  very  dissimilar  :  I  see 
no  great  difference  in  them  ;  certainly  no  greater  than  when  you 
lived  at  the  cottage  on  the  heath  and  I  was  the  miller's  son.  You 
are  independent  now.  Your  good  friend,  Mrs.  Palmer,  has  made 
you  so,  and  will  permit  me  to  say,  that  you  have  already  an  inde- 
pendence in  this  country  far  greater  than  ever  you  could  enjoy 
in  England." 

Margaret  looked  at  Mrs.  Palmer.  That  good  woman  at  once 
confessed  that  all  the  rent  Margaret  had  paid  for  the  years  she  had 
been  in  the  farm  was  now  placed  in  the  Sydney  Bank,  to  her 
account,  and  quite  at  her  disposal.  She  added,  that  she  had  made 
over  the  estate  she  occupied  at  Richmond  Hill  to  her  for  ever. 

What  could  Margaret  now  say]  She  found  herself  on  the  one 
hand  made  free,  through  the  intercession  of  a  man  who  loved  her, 
and  on  the  other  she  was  made  independent  for  life  by  a  lady  who 
had  only  known  her  in  her  captivity,  but  who  had  respected  and 
esteemed  her.     That  lady  now  thought  it  time  to  speak  out. 

"  Margaret,  do  not  think  that  I  have  given  you  anything  more 
than  what  you  are  strictly  entitled  to.  Remember  that,  from  a  sense 
of  justice  towards  me,  you  refused  the  hand  of  a  man  who  probably 
would  have  settled  all  the  estate  upon  you.  But  ycu  chose  to 
think  yourself  unworthy  of  my  kindness  had  you  accepted  his  offer. 
You  acted  with  great  discretion  ;  and  in  settling  this  small  portion 
upon  you,  I  was  guided  by  a  sense  of  justice  and  gratitude,  which 
made  me  anxious  to  discharge  a  just  debt,  and  I  do  not  consider 
that  I  have  even  given  you  as  much  as  I  ought  to  have  done." 

"Indeed  you  have,  dear  lady,  and  you  have  bound  me  to  you 
for  ever.  Have  I,  indeed,  such  dear  friends  in  this  country? 
Then  do  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  remain  in  it,  and  I  will  learn  to  sigh 
no  longer  after  that  place  where  I  had  so  long  hoped  to  live  and 
die.  You  give  me,  however,  more  credit  for  refusing  the  hand  of 
Mr.  Poinder  than  I  deserve  :  I  never  could  have  married  a  man  who, 
in  such  an  imperious  manner,  gave  me  to  understand  his  will.  No  ; 
I  was  his  servant,  but  not  his  slave.     And  any  woman  who  would 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  339 

obey  the  nod  of  a  tyrant,  to  become  his  wife,  could  never  expect  to 
enjoy  any  self-estimation  afterwards.  He  told  me  his  intention  of 
making  me  his  wife  in  such  an  absolute  way  that  I  quite  as 
absolutely  rejected  him.     I  deserve  no  credit  for  this." 

11  Margaret,"  said  Mr.  Barry,  "  understand  the  offer  I  now  make 
you.  If  you  are  not  totally  indifferent  to  all  mankind,  and  can 
accept  the  offer  of  one  whose  earliest  affections  you  commanded, 
then  know  that  those  affections  are  as  honest,  and  true,  and  faith- 
ful to  you  this  day,  as  they  were  when  I  J6r3t  addressed  you. 
Think  me  not  so  ungenerous  as  ever  to  appeal  to  any  sense  of 
gratitude  on  your  part.  You  cannob  conceive  what  unspeakable 
pleasure  I  have  always  thought  it  to  serve  you  in  any  way  I  might. 
You  cannot  tell  how  dead  I  have  been  to  every  hope  but  that  of 
being  enabled  to  do  good  to  others.  This  has  been  my  purest 
solace  under  your  loss,  Margaret ;  and  if  in  daily  remembrance  of 
you  I  have  done  thus  much,  what  will  not  your  presence  always 
urge  me  to  perform  % 

"  I  sought  a  servant,  a  confidential  kind  of  friend,  to  govern  my 
brother's  household  :  I  little  thought  that  I  should  find  the  only 
person  I  ever  could  or  would  make  my  wife.  I  offer  you,  then, 
myself  and  all  my  possessions.  I  am  willing  to  make  over  all  I  have, 
upon  the  contract  that  you  become  the  aunt  of  those  dear  children, 
and  I  know  you  too  well  ever  to  doubt  your  kindness  to  them. 

"  As  to  your  respectability,  I  have  already  declared  to  the  governor 
my  full  intention  of  offering  you  this  hand.  He  has  promised  to 
receive  and  recognise  you  as  my  wife.  Your  friend  here  will  not 
like  you  the  less  because  you  are  so  nearly  allied  to  me  ;  and  I 
will  answer  for  all  my  relatives  and  friends.  None  will  ever  scorn 
you,  all  will  respect  you,  I  will  love  you.  Say,  then,  will  you  live 
my  respected  wife  at  Windsor  Lodge,  or  will  you  still  live  alone  at 
Richmond  Hill  ? » 

"  It  is  you  must  choose,"  replied  Margaret  ;  "  I  cannot  refuse. 
I  never  can  doubt  you.  I  will  endeavour  to  fulfil  the  station  of 
a  mother  in  that  of  an  aunt  ;  and  if  my  heart  does  not  deceive  me, 
I  shall  do  my  duty  as  an  honest  wife." 

After  this  explanation,  it  is  needless,  perhaps,  to  add  that 
Margaret  Catchpole  changed  her  name,  and  became  the  much- 
respected  and  beloved  wife  of  John  Barry,  Esq.,  of  Windsor,  by 
the  Green  Hills  of  Hawkesbury. 

22 


340  THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

CHAPTER   XXXI. 

CONCLUSION. 

If  true  love  and  constancy  are  noble  qualities  in  the  heart  of  man, 
and  prompt  him  to  deeds  of  generous  philanthropy,  they  deserve 
to  be  recorded  and  imitated  from  the  example  of  John  Barry.  And 
if  sincerity  and  repentance  be  qualities  worthy  the  charitable  con- 
sideration of  good  Christians,  Margaret  Catchpole's  career  in  this 
life,  and  especially  her  latter  days,  will  not  afford  a  bad  example 
of  the  promise  of  "the  life  that  now  is,  and  of  that  which  is  to 
come."  The  remaining  history  of  this  singular  individual  was  one 
of  quiet,  calm,  and  yet  benevolent  exertion  in  all  good  works  of 
faith  and  love.  She  lived  highly  respected  in  the  situation  to 
which  her  husband's  good  qualities  and  good  fortune  had  raised 
her.  She  lived  a  retired,  though  not  a  secluded  life,  on  the  banks 
of  the  Hawkesbury,  fulfilling  the  duties  of  her  station  as  a  good 
wife,  aunt,  sister,  and  mother,  in  an  exemplary  manner.  Charitable 
as  she  was  rich  she  never  thought  she  could  do  enough  to  relieve 
the  distresses  of  others. 

Not  many  months  after  her  marriage  she  received  another  chest 
of  goods  from  her  benevolent  mistress  in  England,  and  wrote  her 
last  epistle  of  thanks,  dated 

"  Windsor,  Hawkesbury, 

"  June  25th,  1812. 
"  My  dear,  Madam, — The  contents  of  this  letter  will  surprise  you. 
I  hope  that  I  am  not  the  less  grateful  for  your  goodness  because 
(rod  has  blessed  me  with  such  abundance,  that  I  no  longer  require 
that  aid  from  England  which  has  hitherto  been  such  a  blessing  to 
me.  Indeed,  my  dearest  madam,  my  good  and  early  friend,  I  am 
most  grateful  for  all  your  past  favours,  though  I  do  not  wish  to 
tax  a  generosity  which  I  do  not  now,  in  the  same  manner,  need. 
May  Heaven  bless  your  warm  heart,  which  will  glow  with  fervent 
praise  to  God  when  you  read  this  letter  from  your  former  poor 
servant  ! 

' '  Everything  that  I  could  wish  for,  and,  oh  !  how  much  more 
than  I  deserve,  have  I  had  granted  to  me  in  this  place  of  proba- 
tion !  God  grant  I  may  not  set  my  heart  too  much  upon  their 
value  !  Dearest  lady,  I  have  men-servants  and  maid-servants, 
horses  and  cattle,  flocks  and  herds  in  abundance.     I  have  clothing 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  341 

and  furniture  above  what  you  can  imagine,  and  a  house  wide 
enough  to  entertain  in  it  all  your  numerous  family.  But,  more 
than  all  this,  I  have  an  excellent  husband,  one  whose  constancy 
from  hi3  youth  has  been  beyond  the  praise  which  I  could  find 
language  to  express. 

"  You  may  remember  what  I  once  told  you  of  a  young  man 
whom  I  had  rejected  for  a  less  worthy  one.  He  has  proved  his 
love  for  me  in  such  a  manner  as  I  am  sure  could  never  have  been 
seen  in  any  but  the  mo3t  noble  of  his  nature.  He  told  me  in 
England  that  he  would  never  marry  any  other,  and  through  years 
of  industry  and  prosperity  (and  as  I  have  every  reason  to  believe 
he  would  have  done  to  his  last  day  of  this  life)  has  kept  himself 
single  on  my  account.  Did  you  ever  chance  to  hear  of  such  a  case 
as  this?  When  I  reflect  upon  it,  as  I  often  do,  I  find  it  more 
and  more  wonderful. 

"You  must  remember  my  telling  you  of  Mr.  John  Barry's 
attachment  to  me.  He  left  me  when  I  lived  at  Nacton,  and  came 
out  here  among  the  earliest  free  settlers  in  the  country,  and  has 
prospered  beyond  his  utmost  anticipations.  He  found  me  out 
here  by  accidental  incpiiries  of  my  dear  Mrs.  Palmer,  and  obtained 
for  me  my  free  pardon.  My  wishes  to  return  again  to  my  native 
land  became  absorbed  in  the  sense  of  duty  and  obligation  to  my 
benefactor,  who,  when  he  had  obtained  that  pardon,  gave  me  the 
option  of  sharing  my  life  and  freedom  with  him,  or  of  being  inde- 
pendent here  or  elsewhere.  Noble  generosity  !  Does  it  not  win 
your  heart?  It  won  mine.  I  am  his  faithful  wife  :  happy,  happy, 
as  the  days  are  long.  He  is  good,  virtuous,  amiable,  and  truly 
religious  ;  constant  in  his  love  to  God  and  man.  I  could  fill  many 
letters  in  speaking  of  his  virtues  ;  but  I  forget  that  you  never 
saw  him,  though  he  lived  upon  the  shores  of  the  same  river  that 
you  do. 

"He  is  very  good  to   me,  so  that  I  want  nothing  more  from 
England.     How  proud  shall  I  be  to  send  you  now  anything  which  . 
this  country  produces  ! 

"  Herewith  I  send  you  a  sketch  of  my  present  beautiful  abode, 
done  by  Mrs.  Palmer.  It  will  give  you  a  slight  idea  of  my  situa- 
tion. I  send  you  also  a  present  of  various  seeds,  skins  of  animals 
(one  of  the  ursine  opossum),  and  dried  plants,  which  I  think  will 
be  valuable  to  you  ;  and  also  some  curious  weapons  and  instruments 
of  the  natives,  for  my  dear  friend,  Dr.  Stebbing. 


342  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

"  What  a  wonderful  life  has  mine  been  !  You  only,  my  dear 
lady,  know  its  reality.  There  may  be  others  equally  eventful ;  but 
how  few  are  there  who  find  such  a  place  of  unmerited  repose  as  I 
have  ?  My  dear  sister's  words  often  recur  to  my  mind  when  she 
told  me  whom  I  should  not  marry  :  I  wonder  if  she  ever  thought 
of  the  one  I  have  married.  There  are  many  very  excellent  people 
in  this  flourishing  country.  The  governor  and  his  family  have 
received  us,  and  have  been  very  kind  to  me.  My  dear  friend, 
Mrs.  Palmer,  is  now  staying  in  my  house.  She  is  my  benefactress 
here,  as  you  were  in  England.  Oh  !  if  I  could  but  bring  you  both 
together,  and  could  sit  quietly  listening  to  your  conversation,  it 
would  be  such  an  intellectual  treat  as  few  could  more  enjoy  !  She 
is,  like  yourself,  very  clever.  I  believe  I  should  die  happier  if  I 
could  see  your  dear  face  in  this  loved  land  ;  but  if  that  never  may 
be,  nor  I  see  old  England  again,  then  may  Heaven  bless  you  ;  and 
God  bestow  His  brightest  gifts  of  grace  upon  you  and  your  children  ! 

"I  am  this  moment  engaged,  and  lay  down  my  pen  to  give 
directions  concerning  the  work  in  that  most  interesting  of  all 
female  employments,  preparing  for  the  coming  of  a  family  of  my 
own.  Mrs.  Palmer,  who  sees  me  writing  these  words,  says,  'How 
astonished  you  will  be  ! '  You  will  rejoice  in  my  happiness.  I 
know  you  will.  Forgive,  dear  lady,  all  my  errors,  both  of  the 
weakness  of  my  head  and  heart.  Give  my  love  to  all  my  dear 
friends.  Any  person  coming  to  this  country,  with  a  recommenda- 
tion from  you  to  me,  will  find  the  warmest  recejjtion.  In  justice 
to  my  husband,  I  would  forget  what  I  have  been,  and  I  speak 
seldom  of  my  past  errors,  though,  before  God,  I  never  cease  to 
lament  and  repent  of  them  ;  and  did  I  not  know  Who  '  died  for 
the  ungodly,'  my  grief  for  the  past  would  be  without  consolation. 
Blessed  faith,  that  teaches  the  contrite  how  to  be  comforted  !  Who 
can  value  thee  as  he  ought  in  this  struggling  state  ! 

"  I  can  add  but  a  few  more  words,  and  I  do  so  with  tears  and 
trembling.  It  is  not  from  pride  of  heart.  Dear  lady,  you  must 
judge  of  its  propriety.  I  am  likely  to  increase  my  family  ;  and 
I  would  conceal  from  them,  in  future  years,  their  mother's  early 
history,  at  least  those  parts  which  are  so  unworthy  to  be  mentioned. 
But  I  feel  that  my  maiden  name  cannot  be  forgotten  in  your  neigh- 
bourhood. Hundreds  will  speak  of  it  when  you  and  I  shall  be  no 
more.  Oh  that  it  could  be  represented  to  the  world  in  its  proper 
light,  as  a  warning  to  that  portion  of  my  country-women  to  which 


THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  343 

I  belonged,  that  they  never  give  way  to  their  headstrong  passions, 
lest  they  fall  as  I  did  !  But  '  the  tender  mercies  of  God  are  over 
all  His  works,'  and  I  can  never  magnify  that  mercy  too  much,  as 
it  has  been  shown  to  me. 

"  If,  dear  lady,  as  years  increase,  our  correspondence  should  not 
be  so  frequent,  because  of  my  altered  situation  in  this  country, 
do  not  think  me  proud.  Your  feelings  as  a  mother  will  point  to 
the  nature  of  my  own.  You  would  not  have  your  children  know 
your  faults.     Pardon  thi3,  perhaps,  my  greatest  weakness. 

"Should  you  ever  think  fit,  as  you  once  hinted  in  your  letter  to 
me,  to  write  my  history,  or  should  leave  it  to  others  to  publish, 
you  have  my  free  permission,  at  my  decease,  whenever  that  shall 
take  place,  so  to  do.  But  let  my  husband's  name  be  concealed. 
Change  it,  change  it  to  any  other  ;  not  for  his  sake,  for  it  is  worthy 
to  be  written  in  golden  characters,  but  for  mine  and  my  children's 
sake  !  And  now,  dear  lady,  farewell.  God's  peace  be  with  you, 
and  ever  think  of  me  as 

"  Your  grateful  and  affectionate  servant, 

"  Margaret  Barry." 

So  ends  the  correspondence  of  Margaret  with  her  mistress.  That 
lady  wrote  one  more  letter  to  her,  assuring  her  of  her  joy  and 
thankfulness  at  her  providential  settlement  in  the  land  of  her 
adoption.  She  told  her  that  she  had  kept  the  early  facts  of  her 
history  in  such  order,  that  on  some  future  day  they  might  perhaps 
be  published,  but  that  her  wishes  should  be  strictly  attended  to, 
and  her  parental  anxieties  respected.  She  took  an  affectionate 
leave  of  her  in  that  last  letter,  promising  not  to  intrude  anything  of 
past  obligation  upon  her  notice,  but  leaving  it  entirely  to  her  own 
heart  to  recognise  any  friends  of  hers,  from  the  county  of  Suffolk 
who  might,  either  in  a  military,  naval,  or  civil  capacity,  go  out  to 
Sydney.  How  delicately  those  wishes  were  observed,  some  can 
well  remember. 

Margaret  Barry  lived  many  years  at  Windsor,  greatly  respected 
and  beloved.  She  had  one  son  and  two  daughters/ who  received 
the  best  education  which  England  could  afford,  and  returned  to 
settle  in  their  native  land.  Among  the  foremost  for  intelligence, 
benevolence,  activity,  and  philanthropy,  is  the  distinguished  son 
of  Margaret ;  and  in  the  future  history  of  Australia  he  will  bear 
no  unimportant  share  in  her  celebrity  and  greatness.     The  daughters 


344  THE   HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

are  amiable  and  accomplished,  and  have  married  gentlemen  of  the 
first  respectability  in  the  country. 

After  fifteen  years  of  the  tenderest  and  most  uninterrupted 
domestic  comfort,  Margaret  had  the  severe  affliction  to  undergo  of 
losing  her  devoted  and  excellent  husband,  who  died  September 
9th,  1827,  leaving  the  bulk  of  his  property  at  her  disposal.  She 
removed  to  Sydney  in  1828,  where  she  was  conspicuous  only  for 
the  mildness  of  her  manners,  and  the  unostentatious  character  of 
her  habits  of  life. 

She  had  a  great  desire  that  her  son  should  settle  in  her  native 
county  of  Suffolk,  and  he  came  over  to  this  country  with  that  view  ; 
and  when  the  sale  of  Kentwell  Hall  took  place,  he  was  nearly 
the  last  bidder  for  it.  His  resolution,  however,  seemed  to  fail 
him  at  the  last  moment,  and  he  did  not  become  the  purchaser  of 
the  estate.  He  stayed  a  year  in  England,  and  then  returned,  with 
a  determination  not  to  settle  in  any  other  country  than  his  native 
one.  He  returned  to  close  the  eyes  of  his  affectionate  parent,  who 
died  September  10th,  184-1,  in  the  sixty-eighth  year  of  her  age. 


SUPPLEMENT   BY  THE   AUTHOB. 

A.D.  1858. 

Since  the  first  publication  of  the  Life  of  Margaret  Catchpole, 
many  have  been  the  correspondents  who  have  addressed  the  author 
upon  the  subject  of  her  life  and  character.  Many  have  been  the 
inquires  made  concerning  her,  and  many  things,  which  the  author 
never  heard  of  her,  have  since  come  to  light.  They  would  fill  a 
volume.  The  author  has  no  intention  of  inflicting  any  further 
pain  upon  the  sensitive  minds  of  some,  who,  in  writing  to  him, 
have  quite  overlooked  the  idea  that  he,  the  author,  had  any 
sensitiveness  whatsoever.  He  has  no  intention  of  reviving  any 
feeling  of  the  past,  respecting  what  may  or  may  not  be  mere 
local  descriptive  scenic  representation  ;  but  there  are  certain  moral 
representations  which  the  author  gave,  both  of  her  early  respecta- 
bility and  character,  which  he  deems  it  but  a  mere  act  of  common 
justice  to  her  memory  to  substantiate,  and  thus  furnish  the  only 


THE    HISTORY    OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  345 

defence  which  can  ever  be  in  his  power  to  make  against  those  who 
accused  him  of  wilful  misrepresentation.  Though  all  the  documents 
relating  to  this  extraordinary  female  are  duly  filed  and  preserved, 
— and  her  own  letters  in  her  own  handwriting  have  been  trans- 
mitted for  inspection  to  several  inquirers, — there  are  some  facts 
which  maybe  interesting  as  proof  positive  of  the  assertions  contained 
in  the  narrative.  To  a  few  of  such  the  author  now  refers  the 
reader. 

The  first  is  a  letter  from  the  Reverend  William  Tilney  Spurdens, 
formerly  head-master  of  the  Grammar  School  at  North  Walsham, 
Norfolk  ;  a  celebrated  scholar,  the  translator  of  Longinus,*  the 
early  and  beloved  tutor  and  friend  of  the  author.  This  gentleman 
had  an  uncle  at  Brandiston  in  Suffolk,  with  whom  he  used  to 
stay,  and  to  that  uncle  and  to  Peggy's  aunt  he  refers  in  this 
letter. 

"  North  Walsham, 

"  30th  Oct.,  1846. 
"  My   dear  Friend, — I  cannot  delay  to  put  you  in  possession  of 
my  '  love-passages  '  with  your  heroine,  albeit,  at  this  present  writing, 
suffering  much  pain  from  asthma  and  chronic  bronchitis,  which  are 
both  aggravated  by  our  foggy  air  for  some  days  past. 

"  In  my  early  childhood  I  had  an  uncle,  an  aged  widower  with 
no  family,  who  did  me  the  favour  of  being  very  fond  of  me.  He 
had  one  domestic  in  his  house,  and  another  out  of  it,  the  former 
a  female,  the  latter  a  male.  The  former  rejoiced  in  the  name  of 
Nanny,  I  suppose  there  was  another  post-fixed  to  it,  but  of  this 
I  am  not  cognisant ;  but  Nanny  had  a  niece,  or  cousin,  or  some- 
thing of  the  kind,  named  Peggy  Catchpole ;  and  whenever  the  old 
uncle's  favourite  paid  him  a  visit,  the  maid's  paid  a  visit  to  her, 
lfor,'  as  Nanny  used  to  say,  'it  was  so  comfortable  for  the  children, 
like;  awl  the  little  dears  helped  to  amvsi  one  another;1  and  so  it 
was  that  Peg  and  I  walked  together,  played  together,  and  slept 
together. 

"I  wish  I  could  give  you  dates,  which  are  the  sinews  of  history, 
you  know.  There  is  one  event  which  my  mind  connects  very  exactly 
with  this  period,  and  which  will  afford  you  one  date.  Peggy  and 
her  young  swain  were  going  on  philandering  at  supper,  at  the  time 
of  the  loss  of  the  Royal  George,  at  Spithead.     The  newspaper  came 

*  London  :  Longman,  Rees,  Orme,  Brown,  Green,  and  Longman,  1836. 


346  THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

in  while  my  good  relative  was  playing  a  hit  at  backgammon  with 
his  neighbour,  the  doctor,  as  was  their  frequent  practice ;  and  by 
dint  of  spelling,  and  a  lift  or  two  over  hard  words,  I  read  to  them 
the  mournful  narrative.  For  this  I  received  sixpence,  and  laid  it 
out  in  figs,  of  which  Peg  and  her  swain  each  ate  so  many  as  to  make 
themselves  ill. 

"  Now  all  this  would  unquestionably  have  been  forgotten,  had  it 
not  been  made  fresh  in  the  memory  from  Peggy's  subsequent  career. 
Whilst  she  was  in  Ipswich  Gaol  I  made  interest  with  the  personage, 
then  usually  called  '  Old  Rip,'  to  see  her,  intending  to  give  her 
money.  I  must  then  have  been  a  young  man.  She,  however, 
would  not  know  anything  of  me — in  fact,  '  cut  me '  :  and  so  I  kept 
my  money.  But  I  afterwards  learned  that  Kipshaw  would  not 
have  permitted  it  to  be  given  !  'And  that's  all.' 

"I  am  afraid  that,  with  all  the  exuberance  of  your  imagination, 
you  would  be  puzzled  to  concoct  a  chapter  out  of  this. 

"I  am  beginning  to  long  for  our  young  friend's  visit  in  order 
to  my  introduction  to  your  other  heroine. 

"  Meanwhile  I  am, 

"  My  dear  Sir, 

11  Yours  very  truly 

"  W.  T.  Spurdens." 

There  is  no  need  to  concoct  a  chapter  out  of  this  letter.  It  is 
the  genuine  offering  of  a  kind  heart  and  clear  head,  and  sufficiently 
explains  the  purpose  in  view ;  viz.,  that  Margaret  was  regarded  in 
her  early  career  with  respect  and  pure  affection,  by  one  who  sought 
to  relieve  her  in  her  distress,  and  in  a  day  of  degradation  and 
adversity  owned  her  as  his  early  playmate,  and  would  have  minis- 
tered to  her  necessity.  Both,  I  trust,  are  now  awaiting  that  final 
day  when  the  cup  of  cold  water,  given  with  a  good  heart  for 
Christ's  sake,  shall  meet  with  a  blessed  reward. 

The  second  letter  is  from  a  gentleman  in  Lincolnshire  a  solicitor 
and  banker,  and  speaks  to  the  career  of  that  brother  Edward  who 
is  mentioned  in  the  narrative. 

"  AFFORD,  Lincolnshire, 

"  10th  Dec,  1846. 
"Sir, — I  have  lately  read  the  Life   of  Margaret  Catchpole,    and 
was  deeply   interested   in   it.     Her  brother   Edward  was   several 
years  in  the  preventive-service  in  this  neighbourhood,  at  Sutton- 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  347 

in-the-Marsh,  about  six  miles  hence,  where  he  died  and  was  buried 
a  few  years  ago. 

"  1  often  saw  him  in  his  rounds  on  the  sea-coast,  and  have  had 
conversations  with  him.  He  was  rather  a  tall  person,  and  of  stern 
manners.  I  could  readily  obtain  a  copy  of  the  inscription  on  his 
grave -stone,  which  refers  to  his  former  residence  at  Ipswich,  and 
forward  it  to  you  should  you  wish  it.  His  widow,  who  was  a 
Norwich  person,  still  lives  in  this  neighbourhood. 

"  I  remain,  Sir, 

"  Your  very  obedient  servant, 

"Hesky  T.  Bouene. 

"Rev.  Rich.  Cobbold, 

"  Wortham  Rectory, 

<:  Diss,  Norfolk. 

"P.S. — Since  writing  the  above  I  have  heard  that  Mr.  Edward 
Catchpole  became  a  decidedly  religious  character  for  the  last  few 
years  of  his  life,  and  died  a  very  happy  death." 

From  the  same  gentleman  is  the  memoir  here  inserted  to  Mar- 
garet's  brother  Edward,  obtained  from  an  authenticated  source, 
the  substance  of  which  is  given  in  a  note,  page  118. 

"  Mr.  Edward  Catchpole  was  born  near  Ipswich  in  Suffolk,  in  the 
year  1778.  Of  his  early  days  we  know  but  little  ;  he  was  led  to 
choose  a  sea-faring  life  in  preference  to  any  other  line  of  business  ; 
he  served  an  apprenticeship  on  board  a  merchant  ship.  Some  time 
afterward  he  became  mate  011  board  the  Argus  Revenue  Cutter, 
of  Harwich.  Whilst  in  this  service,  a  most  interesting  circum- 
stance occurred,  which  deserves  to  be  noticed.  Sept.  18th,  1807, 
the  Argus  succeeded  in  rescuing  an  English  coal-brig  from  the  Star, 
French  privateer.  Having  put  some  men  on  board  the  brig,  elated 
with  success,  they  go  in  pursuit  of  the  privateer.  They  soon  fall 
in  with  her,  and  a  sharp  engagement  ensues,  and  at  10  o'clock  at 
night  the  captor  was  captured  ;  they  came  to  close  quarters,  and, 
owing  to  the  great  disparity  in  numbers,  the  privateer  having  861 
men,  and  the  cutter  only  27,  they  were  boarded,  overpowered, 
taken  into  a  French  port,  and  sent  to  prison.  Mr.  C.  was  about 
seven  years  in  a  French  prison.  Frequently  his  expectatations 
were  raised  by  hopes  of  liberation,  an  exchange  of  prisoners  was 
often  talked  of,  but  still  they  were  kept  in  bondage  and  suspense- 
A  favourable  opportunity  occurring,  he  made  his  escape,  and  came 


348  THE   HISTORY   OF    MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

over  to  England.  His  arrival  was  so  sudden  and  unexpected  to 
his  wife,  that  he  seemed  to  her  almost  like  one  from  the  dead. 
Subsequently  he  was  appointed  chief  officer  in  the  coast-guards  ; 
his  last  station  was  at  Sutton-in-the-Marsh,  in  the  county  of 
Lincoln  ;  there  his  health  failed,  and  there  he  finished  his  earthly 
course,  and  made  a  good  end.  His  conversion  to  God  was  most 
satisfactory.  In  his  affliction  the  Lord  graciously  supported  him, 
he  had  a  hope  full  of  immortality,  and  his  end  was  peace.  He  died 
on  the  17th  of  December,  1836.  He  changed  mortality  for  life. 
He  was  interred  in  the  churchyard  at  Sutton,  and  a  stone  has 
been  placed  at  the  head  of  his  grave,  with  the  following  inscription  : 

IN   MEMORY   OP 

EDWARD   CATCnPOLE, 

A   NATIVE   OP  IPSWICH, 

IN  THE   COUNTY   OP  SUFFOLK, 

AND   LATE   CHIEF  OFFICER  OF  THH 

COAST-GUARD 

STATIONED  AT  THIS  PLACE, 

WHO   DIED   DECEMBER  THE   17TH,   1836, 

AGED   58  TEARS. 

As  some  correspondents  have  actually  accused  the  author  of 
producing  before  the  public  a  fictitious  character,  and  in  terms  of 
unmeasured  reprobation  told  him  plainly  that  they  understood  there 
never  was  such  a  person  as  Margaret  Catchpole  in  existence,  the 
author  here  gives  a  copy  of  the  document  signed  by  her  judge,  the 
Lord  Chief  Baron  Macdonald.  This  document  was  not  obtained 
until  after  the  publication  of  the  work.  The  original  is  reserved  in 
the  Corporation  Chest  at  Ipswich. 

Copy  of  a  Certificate  from  the  Right  Honourable  Lord  Chief 
Baron  Macdonald,  to  exempt  from  all  parish  offices,  for  having 
prosecuted  Margaret  Catchpole  at  Bury  Assizes,  Aug.  11th,  1797. 

"  These  are  to  certify,  That  at  the  delivery  of  the  Gaol  of  our 
Lord  the  King,  of  the  County  of  Suffolk,  holden  at  Bury  St. 
Edmunds,  in  the  County  aforesaid,  on  Wednesday,  the  ninth  day 
of  August  instant,  before  me,  whose  name  is  hereunto  subscribed, 
and  others  his  Majesty's  Justices,  assigned  to  deliver  the  aforesaid 
Gaol  of  the  Prisoners,  therein  being  Margaret  Catchpole,  late  of 
the  Parish  of  St.  Margaret,  in  the  Town  of  Ipswich,  in  the  County 
aforesaid,  single  woman,  convicted  of  feloniously  stealing  a  Gelding, 
of  the  price  of  twenty  pounds,  of  the  goods  and  chattels  of  John 


THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  34^ 

Cobbold,  on  the  twenty- third  day  of  May  last,  at  the  Parish 
aforesaid,  in  the  Town  and  County  aforesaid  ;  and  that  the  said 
John  Cobbold  was  the  person  who  did  apprehend  and  take  the  said 
Margaret  Catchpole,  and  did  jjrosecute  her,  so  apprehended  and 
taken,  until  she  was  convicted  of  the  Felony.  Therefore,  in  pur- 
suance of  an  Act  of  Parliament  made  in  the  tenth  and  eleventh 
years  of  the  reign  of  his  late  Majesty  king  William  the  Third, 
intituled,  An  Act  for  the  better  apprehending,  prosecuting,  and 
punishing  of  felons  that  commit  burglary,  housebreaking,  or 
robbery,  in  shops,  warehouses,  coachhouses,  or  stables,  or  that 
steal  horses  ;  I  do  hereby  further  certify,  that  by  virtue  hereof 
and  of  the  said  Act  of  Parliament,  he,  the  said  John  Cobbold, 
shall  and  may  be,  and  is  hereby,  discharged  of  and  from  all 
manner  of  Parish  Offices  within  the  Parish  of  St.  Margaret,  in 
the  Town  of  Ipswich  aforesaid,  in  the  County  aforesaid. 

"  In  testimony  whereof  I  have  hereunto  set  my  hand  this  eleventh 
day  of  August,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  seven  hundred 
and  ninety-seven. 

"An.  Macdo^ald." 


The  author  now  approaches  a  most  painful,  and  yet  he  trusts  a 
pleasurable,  duty.  Painful,  because  his  own  mind  and  that  of 
others  have  been  excessively  hurt  by  a  misconception  of  the  iden- 
tity of  that  Margaret  Catchpole  whose  life  he  has  written,  and 
pleasurable,  because  of  the  opportunity  afforded  him  of  contra- 
dicting the  fact  so  often  asserted,  that  Mrs.  Beibey  of  New  Town, 
Sydney,  was  the  identical  Margaret  Catchpole. 

The  relatives  and  friends  of  that  highly-esteemed  lady,  lately 
deceased,  will  be  glad  to  read  a  letter  from  the  late  Bishop  of 
Australia,  written  to  one  of  his  clergy,  the  Rev.  H.  D.  D.  Sparling, 
of  Appin,  New  South  Wales,  the  good  Bishop  himself,  as  well  as 
hundreds  of  others,  having  been  deceived  in  that  identity  from  a 
strange  but  very  simple  mistake,  viz.,  that  of  two  places  bearing 
the  same  name  in  England,  though  one  be  in  Suffolk, — Bur}-, 
and  the  other  in  Lancashire — Bury. 

Hence  originated  the  grand  mistake  concerning  Mrs.  Beibey  who 
emigrated  from  Bury  in  Lancashire,  and  Margaret  Catchpole,  who 
was  tried  at  Bury  in  Suffolk.  It  appears  from  original  letters 
in  the  possession  of  the  author,  and  from  Mrs.  Beibey  herself,  that 


350  THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE. 

Suffolk  was  totally  unknown  to  her.  She  was  very  justly  hurt  at 
presents  being  sent  to  her,  under  the  idea  that  she  was  that  poor 
girl,  whose  correspondence  and  gratitude  to  her  benefactress,  the 
late  Mrs.  Cobbold  of  Holywells,  showed  her  to  be  honest  and 
exemplary.  She  was  justly  hurt,  because  therein  was  the  supposi- 
tion that  she  had  been  tried  and  convicted  as  a  felon,  and  was 
transported  for  horse -stealing. 

The  friends  and  relatives  of  Mrs.  Reibey,  as  well  as  all  Chris- 
tians, will  be  glad  to  read  the  amiable  Bishop's  letter ;  and  even 
the  author,  whom  it  condemns,  gives  it  to  the  public,  because  his 
own  heart  is  in  full  accordance  with  the  charity  therein  breathed  ; 
and  he  is  even  more  anxious  to  turn  the  hearts  of  that  lady's  rela- 
tives in  gratitude  to  that  spirit  and  testimony  which  this  good  man 
gives  of  all  the  branches  of  their  respectable  family. 

Notwithstanding  the  remonstrance  conveyed  in  the  Bishop's 
letter,  concerning  the  publication  of  the  Life  of  the  real  Margaret 
Catchpole,  over  which  the  author  had  then  no  more  control  than 
he  now  has,  he  cannot  help  here  expressing  his  gratitude  to  all 
those  who,  viewing  the  narrative  in  the  light  of  truth,  and  intention 
on  the  author's  part  to  convey  a  moral  and  spirit aal  warning  and 
lesson  in  an  easy  and  instructive  style,  have  written  to  him  letters 
of  approbation. 

The  Bishop's  letter,  whilst  it  will  animate  the  hearts  of  Mrs. 
Reibey's  real  relatives,  will  also  speak  equally  kindly  to  the  descen- 
dants of  the  real  Margaret  Catchpole,  and  will  be  the  author's  best 
proof  of  his  desire  to  convey  the  Bishop's  love  to  them  along  with 
his  own.  The  wildest  olive,  when  grafted  into  the  true  stem 
must  be  productive  of  good  fruit. 

Mrs.  Reibey,  a  high-spirited,  romantic  girl,  from  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Bury  in  Lancashire,  of  good  family,  with  friends  and 
relatives  of  England's  noblest  merchants,  conceived  the  idea  that 
she  should  be  happier  in  our  distant  colony  than  in  the  Mother 
Country.  She  left  England  very  young,  and,  like  many  of  her 
sex,  succeeded  in  proving  that  her  enterprising  spirit  was  not  unre- 
warded. She  lived  respected  by  her  family  and  friends  in  England, 
and  although  mistaken  by  the  good  Bishop  himself,  yet  noble  testi- 
mony is  borne  to  the  excellence  of  her  character.  She  was  a  clever 
woman  of  business,  and  of  a  noble  disposition.  The  author  can 
only  hope,  that  all  her  relatives  and  friends  who  have  written  to 
him  will  thus  accept  at  his  hands  the  apology  for  all  the  mistakes 


THE    HISTORY   OF   MARGARET    CATCHPOLE.  35 1 

that  have  arisen  ;  whilst,  at  the  same  time,  he  rejoices  to  keep 
concealed  the  name  of  Margaret's  real  descendants,  until  they 
shall  themselves  divulge  it. 

"  Sydney,  April  18th,  1845. 
"  Reverend  Sir, — I  was  very  much  vexed  to  learn  from  your 
letter  of  the  loth  inst.  the  course  which  it  is  intended  to  be  taken 
with  reference  to  the  publication  named  in  the  Prospectus  which 
you  forwarded,  and  which  is  now  returned.  My  opinion  entirely 
coincides  with  yours  and  Mr.  Hossall's  as  to  the  inexpediency  of 
such  an  undertaking.  It  would  be  cruel  even  to  the  individual, 
whoever  it  may  be,  to  have  early  offences  thus  placed  permanently 
on  record  as  a  memorial  of  shame  and  cause  of  annoyance  to 
her  younger  and  perfectly  innocent  connections.  Indeed,  if  the 
party  meant  be  the  one  whom  allusions  in  your  letter  lead  me  to 
conjecture,  they  who  would  suffer  in  their  feelings  are  not  only 
innocent,  but  praiseworthy  in  a  very  high  degree  for  exertions 
in  the  cause,  of  religion,  and  of  the  Church  of  England,  scarcely  to 
be  paralleled  by  any  instance  I  have  ever  known.  The  Bishop  of 
Tasmania  would  regret  equally  with  myself,  perhaps  even  more, 
that  any  pain  should  be  occasioned  to  parties  so  worthy  of  respect. 
If  my  conjecture  be  right,  I  happened  once  to  be  in  circumstances 
which  placed  other  members  of  the  same  family  (young  females 
just  attaining  to  womanhood)  under  my  close  and  special  attention, 
and  I  can  truly  testify  the  impression  by  me  was,  that  they  were  in 
character  and  deportment  altogether  unexceptionable,  and  in  habits 
of  devotion,  very  exemplary.  Others  I  know,  are  regarded  by  the 
clergyman  of  their  parish  as  among  the  best  instructed  and  sober- 
minded  of  the  communicants  in  his  church. 

"  My  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Cobbold  is  not  such  as  I  think 
would  justify  my  taking  any  step  which  would  so  much  carry  the 
air  of  remonstrance  as  that  of  my  writing  to  him  would. 

"  It  appears  to  me  that  as  you  have,  through  various  circum- 
stances, been  brought  into  correspondence  with  him,  it  would  be 
more  proper  that  you  should  make  a  statement  of  the  true  facts, 
and  of  the  view  which  is  taken  of  his  proposal.  At  the  same  time, 
if  you  think  it  would  strengthen  your  case  if  he  were  acquainted 
with  my  sentiments,  I  can  have  no  objection  to  your  communicat- 
ing them  ;  as  all  my  statements  to  you  upon  the  subject  have  beeu 
in   accordance   with   them,   and  expressive  of  my  satisfaction  at 


J52  THE    HISTORY   OF    MARGARET    CATCHPOLE. 

witnessing   the   exemplary   conduct    of   the    individuals    whom  I 
suppose  to  be  alluded  to. 

"I  remain,  Reverend  Sir, 

M  Your  very  faithful  servant, 
"  W.  G.  Australia. 

"  Rev.  H.  D.  D.  Sparlino, 

"Parsonage,  Appin." 

Mrs.  Reibey  is  no  more,  and  the  author  acknowledges  the  receipt 
of  very  satisfactory  letters  from  her  and  her  relatives,  all  conveying 
their  free  pardon  for  any  unintentional  pain,  which  might  have 
been  given  to  an  innocent  and  praiseworthy  individual,  but  assuredly 
they  did  not  endure,  and  never  could  endure,  the  pangs  which 
the  author  himself  received  at  the  very  thought  of  giving  pain  to 
others. 

He  ever  did  admire  the  conduct  of  his  mother  towards  her  erring 
servant,  believing  it  to  be  as  magnanimous  and  Christian-like  as 
that  of  the  Bishop  towards  her  supposed  relatives,  and  though 
circumstances  compelled  the  prosecution  in  question,  and  the  very 
prevalence  of  the  crime  at  the  time  made  it  too  notorious  to  be 
disregarded, — the  years  of  intercourse,  and  passing  presents  to  and 
fro,  between  the  prosecutor  and  the  prisoner,  made  too  deep  a 
impression  upon  the  young  heart  of  the  author  to  be  obliterated 
even  in  these  his  old  days. 

He  cannot  help  thinking  that  the  removal  of  the  card  which  was 
placed  at  the  foot  of  the  "  Manura  Superba,"  the  first  Lyra 
Pheasants  sent  from  that  country  to  England  as  a  present  from 
Margaret  Catchpole  to  her  mistress,  and  presented  by  Mrs.  Cobbold's 
eldest  son  to  the  Ipswich  Museum,  simply  because  it  stated  the 
fact  of  her  transportation,  was,  however  kind  in  intention,  a  mis- 
take in  point  of  judgment.  The  object  of  all  records  of  crime 
ought  to  be  taken  as  warnings  to  others  ;  though  the  simple  fact 
of  such  birds  being  sent  as  a  grateful  present  from  a  once  poor 
transport,  proves  that  the  heart  was  not  totally  devoid  of  grace, 
and  that  we  should  ourselves  be  more  glad  to  see  such  a  noble 
token  of  love,  in  the  days  of  poverty,  than  the  most  splendid 
monuments  of  accumulated  wealth. 

One  duty  only  remains  for  the  author,  and  that  is  the  last 
and  very  simple  one  of  gratitude  to  the  memory  of  those  who 
loved  his  mother,  as  well  as  to  those  living  who  were  subscribers 


THE    HISTORY    OF   MARGARET   CATCHPOLE.  353 

to  the  monument  placed  in  the  Tower  Church,  Ipswich,  to  her 
memory.  That  duty  is  simply  to  record  the  inscription  engraved 
upon  it  ;  and  the  author  does  so,  because,  as  years  increase,  so 
much  the  brighter  in  his  mind  is  the  memory  of  the  talents  and 
virtues  of  the  departed. 

AS    A    PUBLIC    TESTIMONY    OF    RESPECT 

FOR  EXALTED  TALENTS  AND  UNWEARIED  EXERTION 

IX    THE    CAUSE    OF    BENEVOLENCE    AXD    CHARITY 

THIS    MONUMENT    13     ERECTED    BY    THE    GENERAL 

COXCURREXCE   OF  AX  EXTENSIVE  CIRCLE  OF    FRIEXD6 

TO    THE    MEMORY    OF 

ELIZABETH  COBBOLD, 

THE   BELOVED    WIFE    OP    JOHN    COBBOLD,    ESQ., 

OF    HOLYWELLS. 

SHE    DIED    OCTOBER    XVII.,    MDCCCXIVi, 

AGED    LIX. 


SECOND    SUPPLEMENT. 
a.d.  1862. 

The  documents  hereafter  nnmed  comflrmatory  of  some  of  the 
leading  facts  of  this  remarkable  narrative  have  recently  come 
into  the  publisher's  possession,  namely  : 

1.  The   original  printed  Hand- Bill   issued  after  the  horse  was 

stolen,  and  offering  a  reward  for  the  conviction  of  the 
offender. 

2.  The  copy  of  Margaret's  Examination  and  Confession  (in  M.S.). 

3.  The  Counsel's  Brief  for  the  prosecution  (M.S.). 

4.  Four  Letters  from  New  South  Wales  in  the  handwriting  of 

Margaret  Catch  pole,  bearing  the  following  dates,  May  20th, 
1803  ;  October  8th,  1806  ;  January  28th,  1807  ;  September 
2nd,  1811. 


Mr.  S.  Catton  of  Plaistow  has  also  kindly  sent   the  following 
interesting  statement  : — 


354  the  history  of  margaret  catchpole. 

Further  Particulars  of  Margaret  Catciipolb. 

It  is  about  62  years  back  this  spring  (1862)  since  I  saw  Margaret 
Catchpole  the  day  that  she  made  her  escape  from  the  Ipswich  Gaol. 
She  and  William  Laud  passed  over  the  ferry  at  Woodbridge  on  the 
Sutton  side,  and  made  their  way  to  Wilford  Bridge,  where  I  and 
another  boy  of  the  name  of  Thomas  Rumsby,  who  now  lives  at 
Woodbridge,  where  he  keeps  a  beer-shop,  were  playing  near  the 
bridge,  when  a  female  came  up,  and  directed  Margaret  the  way  to 
Sudbourn.  The  next  day  there  was  a  hue  and  cry  that  Margaret 
Catchpole  had  escaped  from  the  Ipswich  Gaol,  and  Ripshaw  and 
the  Melton  constable  were  in  pursuit  of  her,  when  the  former 
inquired  of  me  if  I  had  seen  a  person  with  a  long  smock-frock 
on  and  white  trousers,  and  a  bundle  under  his  arm.  I  then  directed 
him  towards  Hatchly  barn  through  Eyke,  and  then  he  told  me  she 
was  a  female  escaped  from  the  Ipswich  Gaol,  and  if  I  could  tell 
him  where  she  was  he  would  give  me  a  new  great  coat,  for  to  the 
best  of  my  recollection  I  then  had  on  a  coat  patched  up  (like 
Joseph's  coat  of  many  colours),  and  the  same  day  I  understood 
WTilliam  Laud  got  shot  by  Margaret's  side  on  the  beach  at  Sud- 
bourn, and  I  expect  this  is  where  Ripshaw  branded  me  as  the 
shepherd  boy  ;  but  I  was  then  minding  cattle  on  the  walks  near 
Bromswell  "  Cherry  Tree." 

Although  she  had  come  over  the  Woodbridge  ferry  in  a  sailor's 
garb,  when  she  got  to  Wilford  Bridge,  there  I  expect  she  put  on 
the  smock-frock  and  white  trousers,  as  we  found  many  materials 
under  some  alder  trees,  that  convinced  us  that  it  was  there  she  had 
changed  her  apparel,  and  I  expect  at  this  place  William  Laud  went 
to  Sudbourn  to  prevent  detection.  Four  or  five  years  back  I  was 
addressing  an  audience  in  Eyke,  and  I  related  to  the  people  there 
this  circumstance,  when  an  elderly  female  told  me  she  was  living 
at  the  Melton  "  Horse  and  Groom  "  at  the  time  as  cook,  and  that 
she  cooked  a  dinner  for  Ripshaw  and  the  Melton  constable,  I 
suppose  the  day  after  William  Laud  got  shot,  when  they  were 
taking  Margaret  back  to  prison. 

Thus  far, 
S.  CATTOK 
Witness,    H.  C.  WHITING. 


Vf) 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 
t>  j°l     .  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall 


25M*y65SS 


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JUN5   '65  -4  PM 


LD  21A-60m-3,*65 
(F2336sl0)476B 


General  Librae 
University  of  Cali' 
Berkeley 


-dU: