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 connexion with that family in which she had once been so happy. She merely asked permission 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-bye" 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 remembrance, 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 cheeks, 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.
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 neverforgotten 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 doors 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 where 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 ascertain 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 inevitablyhave 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 I was visited by Margaret Catchpole and Mrs. Cobbold, who both took great notice of me, and evinced great anxiety for my recovery.“I 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 Bayley (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."William White.“Reading, February 18th, 1847.”
The Declaration of William White, of Reading, in Berkshire.
“My parents lived on St. Margaret’s Green, St. Margaret’s parish, Ipswich, about five doors 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 where 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 ascertain 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 inevitablyhave 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 I was visited by Margaret Catchpole and Mrs. Cobbold, who both took great notice of me, and evinced great anxiety for my recovery.
“I 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 Bayley (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.
"William White.
“Reading, February 18th, 1847.”
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 find him at the Compasses at Orford, and there he did find 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 after 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 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 his 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 service of Captain Bargood. But Luff was too determined a villain to forgo that opportunity, which now offered itself, of fulfilling the deadly purpose he had often sworn to his crew that he would accomplish, “to bring Laud a captive, dead or alive, on board the brig.” The treacherous fellow had left no stone unturned to bring about this plan. It was he who pursued such a system of fraud with regard to Margaret as 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 was at last going to marry one of the brewhouse men.Such were the inventions 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.”
“Aye, aye, 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!”
“Aye, Jim, I don’t mind a brush with the coastguard, 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 walk than he expected; and no sooner had they entered the Gap Lane than he began a quarrel, and presently attacked him, sword in hand. Laud defended himself with great dexterity, until his sword was broken, and he himself disarmed. He fled towards the marshes, but was overtaken, cut down, and cast for dead into one of those deep marsh ditches which abound 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. He was too great a villain, however, to have much thought of mercy, pity, or repentance. He entered the Compasses and called for a strong north-wester, and inquired for his men, and learned they had been gone to their boat some time. He gave them somecoarse 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 and carried him across the marshes, and laid him as carefully as they could upon some old sails at the bottom of the 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 landed, to send their boat adrift; which, getting into the channel, was 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 was the first to discover the boat, keel upwards, upon the bank.
“It served them right,” said the captain, “for leaving their commander behind them.”
They had safely conveyed Will Laud to the Jolly Tar, which then stood close to the river’s side. His uncle was sent for, who came, attended by Mr. Nursey, at that time the skilful and highly esteemed surgeon of Aldborough. He found him dreadfully 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 the waywardness of his seafaring propensities; and he took him to his home, and treated him in every respect as a lost son restored.
Here, then, was 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 hadobtained for him a free discharge, with prize-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 business, 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 Margaret; had learned to think little of her; and never to have forgiven 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 of Luff’s 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 undertook once more the management of the children, and was instrumental 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-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 be 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 comes 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? He looked uncommon well, and was very civil to me. He asked me many questions about you; and I set him right about some bad splints and curbs he had got in his head. He told me he should soon manage to see you, so no more from old"George Teager.“Margaret’s Green, May 3rd, 1797.”
“Margaret,
“This comes 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? He looked uncommon well, and was very civil to me. He asked me many questions about you; and I set him right about some bad splints and curbs he had got in his head. He 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 days 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 accidentally; a good-for-nothing fellow, whom Luff hadformerly 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 villainy, with which Laud had never before been acquainted; especially his conduct to Margaret 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 forwards 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 his betrothed the very moment he had fulfilled his engagement at Ipswich. 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 explain (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 thepublic-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 to 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 artful 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 anywhere, or to do anything, provided she could only have an explanation with Laud.
“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?”
“I am 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! 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 foundby 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 follow.
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? Aye! I’ll tell you what, I never saw a fellow so dumb-foundered before. He looked almost like a madman, cursed his stars, and swore they were all confederate against him. He swore 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 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 and Bone,Lambeth,"May 8th, 1797.“Jack,“I 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 mightent 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 old’n. All’s honour bright, Jack!“I say, old boy, we talked o’ the brown nag; can ye send him up to Chelmsford? or if to the Dog and Bone, direct to your old chum,"Bob Bush,"Sam Snacks,"Dog and Bone, Lambeth.To John Cook,"Marquis Cornwallis,"Ipswich, Suffolk."
"Dog and Bone,Lambeth,"May 8th, 1797.
“Jack,
“I 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 mightent 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 old’n. All’s honour bright, Jack!
“I say, old boy, we talked o’ the brown nag; can ye send him up to Chelmsford? or if to the Dog and Bone, direct to your old chum,
This letter, which was found some days later at the inn, and delivered up to the constable of the parish of St. Margaret’s, may serve to show the connexion which this fellow had with a gang of horse-stealers, who, at this time, infested the counties 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?”
A thought struck him that he would tear off the half of the letter containing the post-mark, 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 Bushto take the horse off Margaret’s hands, if he could get her on to it. He wrote thus:—
Dog and Bone,Lambeth, May 9th, 1797.“Dear Jack,“Hurrah, my boy! Safely anchored, though I had 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. 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; aye, 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 be 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"Your old friend,Will Laud”
Dog and Bone,Lambeth, May 9th, 1797.
“Dear Jack,
“Hurrah, my boy! Safely anchored, though I had 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. 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; aye, 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 be 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
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, wouldhe 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,” said Margaret, as if pondering within herself.
“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 heaven 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.
It was 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 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. But it was all in vain; he would be caught by nobody but old Teager.
What was 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 place 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.
“Not 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 must 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 his 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 spoke to them and patted them, so that her voice now, as she said, “Whoho, Crop!" and “Gently, Rochford!" 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, whilst I just look into the harness-house.”
Rochford, a fiery grey horse which Mr. Cobbold had lately purchased from Lord Rochford, at Easton, rose up and snorted, and 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 wasupon 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 Woodbridge 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; 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 Bonepublic-house, at Lambeth; there you will find Will Laud expecting you. Sell the horse for all you can get; say he is worth a hundred guineas, and that your master, Squire John Cook, sent you up to sell 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 question, 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 the ‘Dog and Bone.’ A hundred guineas for 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 Ipswich 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 going. Did you see the fellow’s stable-dress up to his knees? There’s something amiss, or the horse is stolen.”
When he came to Ipswich, the man mentioned the circumstance at the coach-office, 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 boy’s tricks? what have you done with my stable dress?”
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 somebody has not stolen the 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 manner 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’snew 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. His 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. Jackson’s, of theCounty 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 strawberry 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.“Ipswich, May 24th, 1797.”
"TWENTY GUINEAS REWARD.
“Whereas, last night, or this morning, May 24th, a fine strawberry 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.
“Ipswich, May 24th, 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 wenton 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?”
“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 met him I should say about five miles on the other side of 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 the 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 as 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 buys him. But look well after him. I must go and get a bait myself.”
She went into the bar, ordered her breakfast, tookup the newspaper, 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 representation hastened to look at him. Margaret was called out; the animal exhibited; under-valued by the dealer in the style so characteristic 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 grass; 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 authorized to sell the horse?”
“To be sure I am, or else 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 Ipswich, in Suffolk.”
“What do you want for him?”
“One hundred guineas.”
“May I take him for a trial?”
“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.”
“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 you drive me with him; but I do not trust any one else 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 was more on his guard than he otherwise 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 down the yard and back again.
“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?”
“Look at his mouth!”
Peter did so.
“How is it, Peter?”
“All right, sir.”
“What’s his age?”
“Rising six.”
“What do you say to him?”
Peter looked at every point, then scratched his head, and again looked at his master; but he received no sign to manœuvre; so he replied, "Why, master, if you ask for truth you shall have it. He’s a right good one; that is it.”
“Well, young man, now what is the lowest price you will take?”
“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?”
“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. Buy him, master.”
“Well, young man, I’ll 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 comeinto 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.”
He 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.”
“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 good. What will you have for it?”
“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 you rode him from Chelmsford.”
“So I did; and from Ipswich too.”
“What was your master’s name?”
“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 forsook her; she swooned away in a moment, and would have fallen from the horse, had not the constable caught her by her jacket as 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, who happened to be in town at the time, and identified both the horse and his 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.
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. Cobbold 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 mentioned, 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 streets. She was conducted into an ante-room 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 affectedat the interview, 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 confession of her guilt. She acknowledged that she had been persuaded, 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, or mention anything about his hiding-place; but she described 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 heart very much humbled, was committed to Newgate by N. Bond, Esq., with an order for her removal as soon as the forms could be 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 MarquisCornwallis 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 connexion with a gang of horse-stealers; but this only served to tell against poor Margaret on her trial.
Margaret was removed to Ipswich byhabeas corpus, July 6th, 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 doubtless be received with singular interest, copied as they are from the original documents, which are carefully preserved in the family. The following is the first she ever wrote:—