The History of Margaret Catchpole, a Suffolk Girl

CHAPTER XX CHANGE OF SCENE AND CHANGE OF PLACE

Soon after Margaret’s recovery, and the taking of her deposition before Colonel Neale, Mr. Gibson, and Mr. Seekamp, justices of the 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, what 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 disappointment was gnawing at Margaret’s heart, the more keenly, 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 coastguard are as active as they ever were in the discharge of their desperate duty. I cannot think of any other method of ascertaining 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 tiger’s paw. You must visit all the different places along the coast from Felixstowe to Aldeburgh. If any of the coastguard 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 his 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 Felixstowe. His first attempt was to find out the old ferryman, Laud’s father, and ascertain if he knew anything of him. But he learned that the old man 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 Felixstowe to Bawdsey Ferry, and took up his quarters at the Sun Inn. Here he seemed as one come to the seaside 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 Alde, now known by the name of the Life-Boat public-house, then kept by Jacob Merrells, 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, frequented 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 Alde, to the North Vere; and here he used to spend so many hours, that the coastguard, who kept a watch upon his movements, suspected 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 Alde from the ocean. The bank reaches from Hollesley Bay to Aldeburgh. The sea and the river are very deep along the shelving banks on either side.

Thousands upon thousands 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 coastguard 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 hollows these poor men used 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 seaside.

“Oh,” replied Edward, “I have got a holiday, and I wish to spend a day or two by the seaside.”

“A day or two! Why you have been here six days, and you have been staying at Hollesley, and Boyton, and Felixstowe. 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 information. 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. But I never saw you before, and your looks do not betray deceit.”

“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 certainly 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 can, and the reward is extended to us. He 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, preparing to land a cargo on the Vere. If you have a mind to lend a 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 see 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 Havergate 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. Remember 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 whole line. Take this keg over your shoulder, and 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 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 yourself 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 burden, 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 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 see how much depends upon your courage.”

Young Edward Catchpole had long made up his mind, notwithstanding 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 such 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 flagstaff to unship it. He jumped up, and called to the shepherd, —

“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?”

“Because such are my orders.”

“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 off 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 any how 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 same chance in the slant. I’ll show you what I mean.”

And the young man showed him in a moment what he meant; for, taking up the crook, and stooping down to place it as he had 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, as 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, very wisely, that he might revive, he took out of his wallet the old man’s sheep-cords (strong thongs which shepherds use when they 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 Catchpole 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.

“Hold your tongue,” said Edward, “or I will shoot you dead with your own pistols! Lie still, and no one will hurt you. What 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 convinced him that the young man was a shepherd. He 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 coastguard 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 flagstaff; 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 coastguard 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 Maud’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.”

“Will you unbind me then?”

“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 you 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 mainland 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 everything 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 was 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 fireplace. I wish I could eat and drink with you.”

“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 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 limbs 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 kindness 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 in the inside. The watch is in the old 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: —

“‘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. 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! 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.’

“‘Ho! 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?’

“‘Yes, I did; and I have reason to think he was lost at sea 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 off 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 fisherman of Boyton.’

“Then, after a pause,

“‘Here, Jim,’ says he, ‘I’ll make you a present of poor Will’s watch. I do not like to wear it; it grieves me when I look at it. We used to be such friends.’