The History of Margaret Catchpole, a Suffolk Girl

“Now I thought this very strange, and it confirmed me in 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.”

“I will give you half a guinea.”

“Well, it is yours.”

“I will put the money into the box in the cupboard. Time now wears away. What are all these pieces of wood for?”

“They are tholes for the boat, when the smugglers use it.”

“With your permission I will take them with me. Have you any oars for them also?”

“No! the smugglers bring their own oars.”

“Well, I must be moving; and now since 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.”

“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?”

“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 was not your part; and if he does not come to-night, I will. But time presses, and I must do my duty. Where is your lamp?”

“I see 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 success to the brave and patient coastguard, and a fatal lure to the desperadoes on board the smuggler.

“Now then, old friend, good-bye,” said Edward. “If success 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 before unmoored her. The tide had fallen some feet, and was near its last ebb, so 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 tholes 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 must 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 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 discovered 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 Havergate 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; the 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 was 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 returned, and, as young Edward concluded, must have said, “All’s right.”

By this time the coastguard 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 word for the charge.

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. As was predicted the men dropped their cargoes, and ran for the pit, but here stood the coastguard 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 coastguard line was more measured, and with some spaces between each two men, so that their danger was 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 coastguard 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 coastguard had fallen.

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 coastguard man, with his pale but placid countenance, though suffering severely from his wounds, extended his hands 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 his 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 fireplace, 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. Whenever 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!”

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 was a fearful fellow when living. Government paid the reward over into the hands of the coastguard, who all subscribed liberally towards the comfort of their wounded messmate. Edward Catchpole was included among those who shared the reward, and this enabled him to pay all his expenses without any recurrence to his sister’s purse.

When young Catchpole returned to Nacton 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 connected 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 was 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 was 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 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 disappointment, and her spirit made restless by rumours of Laud being alive. 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 heartfelt 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 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 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 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 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 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.”

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 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 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 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 had obtained 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.”

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 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 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.”