The History of Margaret Catchpole, a Suffolk Girl

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.

CHAPTER XXII PREPARATION FOR TRIAL

Margaret Catchpole was taken into custody; and whilst she was spending a dismal night in the dungeon, a letter was on the road to Ipswich, to inform her master of the capture of the thief.

The wretched young woman had now time for rest and reflection. Instead of meeting her lover, for which purpose alone she had undertaken her desperate enterprise, she had now before her eyes the terrors of the law, the certainty of conviction, the probability of a violent and shameful death. Who knew anything of the cause which had induced her to steal the horse, and who would pity her if they did? The secret was known only to herself, and she resolved it should continue so, lest her lover should be involved in the consequences of her guilt.

It will readily be believed that the news of what had happened created no small sensation in the minds of the various members of that family who had so dearly loved the miserable culprit.

It was immediately arranged that both Mr. and Mrs. 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 affected at 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 Marquis Cornwallis testified to Margaret’s having been at his house with the man, as also his being at the same place with Captain Laud, as he was called, the evening before. But what became of him no one ever knew. The half of a letter from his companion in London was found at the inn, and was adduced to show his connexion with a gang of horse-stealers; but this only served to tell against poor Margaret on her trial.

Margaret was removed to Ipswich by habeas corpus, July 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: —

"Ipswich, Thursday, July 6th, 1797.

“Honoured Madam,

“Your wretched servant has this evening arrived at the county gaol. Hope induced me to look forward to an earlier abode near you, that I might have the consolation of your instruction and advice. Oh! my honoured lady, when I look upon that dear spot in which you live, and see those green fields before your house, in which I used to walk and play with your dear children, I think the more deeply of the gloom of my felon’s chamber, from which I can even at this moment behold them. They recall to my mind those happy hours in which I enjoyed your approbation and respect. How wretched do I now feel! Oh! what have I not lost!

“I am come to Ipswich to take my trial, and am already condemned by my own conscience more severely than any judge can condemn me. But yours must be the task to teach me how to escape, not the condemnation of the judge, but of my own heart. Oh, my dear lady! do come and see me! Many people were kind to me at Newgate, and many persons contributed to my necessities; some indeed flattered me, and called me a brave girl for my recent act, which they termed clever and courageous. But if they were so, dear lady, why should I now feel so much fear? I thought them poor consolers, and not half such sincere friends as those who told me, as you did, the greatness of my offence, and the probable extent of ultimate punishment.

“Honoured madam, would you let a messenger go to my dear father and tell him where I am, and how much I desire to see him? I fear you will think me very bold and troublesome, but I know your kind heart will make allowances for my troubled mind. I should like to see my Uncle Leader. But I should, first of all, like to see you, my dear lady. Perhaps it will not be long before I shall see you no more. I wish to make up my mind to the worst, but I am at times dreadfully troubled. I feel it so hard to be suddenly torn away from every earthly bond, and some on earth I do so dearly love; and none more deserves that love than you do. Pray come to me; and ever believe me

 

"Your grateful, though

"Most wretched servant,

Margaret Catchpole.

“P.S. – Mr. Ripshaw has promised to send you this letter this evening. He tells me you have often inquired for me.”

The chaplain of the gaol was a friend of Mrs. Cobbold’s; she wrote a note to him requesting him to accompany her at any hour most convenient to himself, to see her poor servant. At eleven o’clock the next day, the interview took place between the wretched culprit and this truly Christian lady. She spent some hours with that disconsolate being, whose whole thoughts seemed to be directed with bitter agony to days of past happiness. For though she had endured much mortification in early life, she had experienced the comfort and consolation of a true and disinterested friend and benefactress in the person of that kind mistress, and her naturally intelligent mind had duly appreciated these benefits.

These visits were repeated many times, and with the most beneficial effects on the mind of the culprit. Her present anguish was the keener, because her sensibilities were all so acutely alive to the memory of the past. It was her mistress’s endeavour not to suffer her to be deceived with any false hopes. She was well aware that the penalty of her crime was death, and that unless her instigating accomplice could be delivered up to justice, she stood every chance of being made a public example, on account of the great frequency of the crime. To such an extent had horse-stealing been carried on in the counties of Suffolk and Essex, that scarce a week passed without rewards being offered for the apprehension of the thieves.

Margaret’s interviews with her father and brother were still more deeply affecting: but to them and to her beloved mistress alone did she make known the real circumstances, attending her stealing the horse. She did not attempt, however, to defend the act, nor would she admit that another’s influence was any exculpation of her offence. Mr. Stebbing, the surgeon of the gaol, who had been her first friend in Ipswich, was very kind to her, as was likewise his benevolent daughter, who lent her many useful books. But the being she most wished to see, and from whose memory she had never thought she could have been displaced, came not near her in her adversity. William Laud had been at Nacton, to see her father and brother. The report of her confession had reached him – he had seen it in the newspapers; and it altered all his views and intentions respecting her; so that the very act which she had done in the hope of strengthening his attachment to her, was the direct cause of his deserting her. In fact, he believed that she had committed the act from an attachment to somebody else, and he gave up all idea of her for the future.

But Margaret was still true to him. In one of her interviews with Mrs. Cobbold, that kind and good lady, referring to the fact of Laud’s not coming near her in her adversity, said earnestly —

“You must endeavour to think less of him, Margaret.”

“It is hard, madam,” was the reply, “for flesh and blood not to think of one who has been in one’s thoughts so many years of one’s life. In happy as well as miserable hours, I have thought of him, madam, and have always hoped for the best. He is still in all my prayers!”

“Your hopes of him, Margaret, must now be at an end. It would have been happier for you, if they ended when you lived with me.”

“Perhaps so, good lady; perhaps so. Or even earlier. I think now of my poor sister Susan’s last words: ‘Margaret, you will never marry William Laud.’ I had hoped that these words were only the fears of the moment; but, alas! I perceive they will prove too true!”

The only diversion of Margaret’s mind at this period, from a fixed and undivided attention to heavenly things, was the one hope of seeing Laud. She clung with tenacity to this, as a sort of last farewell to all things in the world. She said, that had she but one interview with him, she should then have no other wish but to die.

Time flew fast, and the day of her trial approached. She was to depart for Bury, where the assizes were held, early on the morning of the 9th of August; and, on the preceding day, she wrote the following letter to her mistress: —

"Ipswich Gaol, August 8th, 1797.

“Honoured Madam,

“By the time you read this, which I expect will be at your happy breakfast-table to-morrow morning, your poor servant will be at Bury, awaiting the awful moment of her condemnation. I could not leave this place, however, without pouring out my heart to you, my dear and honoured lady; thanking you for your great kindness and Christian charity to my poor soul. I have confessed my guilt to God and man, and I go to my trial with the same determination to plead guilty before both.

“Honoured madam, I am told that the judge will call upon me to know if I have anybody in court to speak to my character. Now, though I cannot hope, and indeed would not urge you to be present in court, considering the state you are now in,⁹ yet you have spoken well of me in private, and I know you would never fear to speak publicly that which you have said of me in private. Perhaps a line from you would do that which I want. You well know, my dear madam, that it is not from any hope of its obtaining a pardon for me that I ask it; but it is from the hope that one, whom I shall never see again, may by some means catch a sight of it; and may think better of me than the world at large, who know nothing of me, can do. Pardon this weakness.

“Think not that I have any hope of mercy or pardon here. You have taught me how to hope for both hereafter. You have shown me much mercy and pity here, and the Lord reward you and my dear master for your unmerited compassion to your wretched servant! You have fortified my mind with the riches of consolation in that religion which I hope will be poured with tenfold increase into your own heart, and give you that peace you are so anxious I should possess. It grieves me to see my fellow-prisoners so unprepared for the fate which awaits them. Oh, that they had such friends as I have had! Oh, that they had been partakers of the same consolation as myself! And now, dearest lady, I have only to request your mention of me in your prayers. Bless you, my dear madam! God bless you and your dear children, and may they live to be a blessing to your old age! Give my kind thanks to all those friends who may ever inquire about me. And now, dearest lady, pardon the errors of this letter, as you have done all the graver faults of your ever grateful and now happier servant,

"Margaret Catchpole.

“To Mrs. Cobbold, St. Margaret’s Green, Ipswich.”

Margaret, with several other prisoners, departed for Bury assizes in the prisoners’ van, which started at six o’clock on the 9th of August, 1797, under the care of Mr. Ripshaw, the gaoler, and arrived at that place about eleven o’clock in the forenoon.

The town was in a bustle, and the prisoners were received into the borough gaol that day an hour or so previously to their trial – a day of anxiety to many, but by too many spent in revelry and folly. The various witnesses crowded into the town. The inns were filled on the 8th. Expectation was alive and active; and the bustle of preparing for business created a stir throughout that town, which at other times is the most silent, the coldest, and the dullest place in England.

CHAPTER XXIII TRIAL AND CONDEMNATION TO DEATH

There are few things that appear in greater and more painful contrast than the general rejoicing which attends the assizes of a country town, and the solemn and awful purposes for which those assizes are held. It may be said, that it is matter of rejoicing when justice is about to be administered; and that honest people have a right to be glad when the wicked are about to be punished. But there is great difference between a reasonable show of rejoicing, and the overflowings of pomp and parade, levity and folly.

At the assizes at Bury, at the time we speak of, the sheriff’s pomp and state was something approaching to regal splendour. His gaudy liveries, his gilded carriage, his courtly dress, and all the expenses attendant upon such a station, made it a heavy burden to the unfortunate country gentleman who should be appointed to such an office. The balls, too, and public entertainments common at such time in the county, formed a striking contrast to the sorrows and despair of the criminals. The judges entered the town, the trumpets sounded, the bells rang, the sheriff’s carriage was surrounded with hosts of gapers of all kinds, to see their lordships alight at the Angel steps. The Lord Chief Baron Macdonald and Mr. Justice Heath attended divine service, at St. James’s Church, previously to their entering the courts. Who could look down upon that assemblage, and see those grave men, with their white wigs crowned with black patches, their scarlet robes, lined with ermine, preceded by the sheriff’s officers, and all the municipal servants of that ancient borough, with their gilt chains, silver maces, and ample robes, and not think of the purpose for which they were assembled!

The best preparation for the scenes met with in a court of justice, is the house of prayer; though even here there is a strange contrast between the peace and quietness of the church, and the bustle, broil, and turmoil usually attendant on the administration of criminal justice.

At twelve o’clock, on the day of trial, August 9th, 1797, the Lord Chief Baron Macdonald took his seat upon the bench, in the criminal court. Mr. Justice Heath presided in the Nisi Prius. On the right hand of the Lord Chief Baron sat the High Sheriff, Chalonor Archdeckne, Esq., of Glevering Hall, with his chaplain, and a full bench of county and borough magistrates. After the proclamation had been read, the respective lists of the grand jury for the county and the liberty were then called over, as follows: —

FOR THE COUNTY

FOR THE LIBERTY

After the names had been respectively answered, the Lord Chief Baron addressed the grand jury, in a most powerful and impressive speech, in which he pointed out to their attention the extraordinary case then about to come on for trial. The grand jury retired. The prisoners were led into the cages, under the body of the court, where the people sat. They could hear all the proceedings, and could see, through an iron grating, all the witnesses in attendance. After the petty jury had been sworn, and had appointed John Bloomfield, auctioneer and farmer, their foreman, they took their seats, and various true bills were handed into court against the prisoners, whose trials then came on. After an hour or two, a paper was handed from the grand jury box, to the clerk of arraigns; it was announced as “a true bill against Margaret Catchpole, for horse-stealing.” She presently after heard herself summoned by name; and with trembling hand and foot, ascended the steps of the dock, and stood before the bar. The court was crowded to excess, and upon the bench sat more ladies than gentlemen. The judge cast a severe glance at the prisoner, evidently expecting to find a bold, athletic female, of a coarse and masculine appearance. Margaret was dressed in a plain blue cotton gown, and appeared deeply dejected. She seemed to be inwardly engaged in prayer. Once she looked round the court, to see if she could discover the person of her lover, or the instigator to the crime for which she was arraigned. Her eye rested only upon her aged father and her affectionate brother Edward, who stood beneath her, close to the bar. The workings of nature were too powerful to be resisted, and tears rolled down the old man’s cheeks, as he gave his hand to his daughter. She kissed it, and let fall upon it the hot drops of agony.

“Prisoner at the bar, you stand committed upon your own confession, before two of his majesty’s justices of the peace for the county of Middlesex, of having, on the night of the 23rd of May last past, stolen from the stable of your late master, John Cobbold, Esq., of St. Margaret’s Green, Ipswich, a strawberry roan-grey coach gelding, and of having rode the same from Ipswich to London that night; and being in the act of selling the horse next day following, when you were taken into custody. For this offence you now stand before the court. How say you, prisoner at the bar, are you guilty, or not guilty?”

Margaret looked at her judge, and in a firm though low voice said, "Guilty, my lord.”

“Prisoner at the bar,” resumed the judge, “though you have made this confession, you are at liberty to retract it, and to plead, ‘Not Guilty,’ if you please, and so to take your trial. Your plea of ‘Guilty’ will avail you nothing in the sentence which must follow. Consider then your answer.”

Margaret replied, “I am not able now, my lord, to plead ‘Not Guilty.’”

“Why not?” said the judge.

“Because I know that I am ‘Guilty.’”

This was too sound an argument to be disputed; and the judge did not attempt any further explanation.

Margaret’s appearance was not remarkable for beauty, nor was it by any means unpleasing. Her figure was not masculine. She was tall, and rather slender. She had a dark eye, dark hair, and a countenance pale from emotion.

The judge then addressed her in the following words: – "Prisoner at the bar, it is my painful duty to address one of your sex in such a situation. I cannot possibly judge of your motives for committing such a crime. They do not appear in your confession, and I am at a loss to conceive what can have induced you to commit it. The sentence to which you have subjected yourself is death. Have you anything to say why this sentence of the law should not be passed upon you? Have you any friends in court to speak to your character?”

There was evidently a stir in the body of the court, and several persons were seen crowding forward to the witness-box, and all ready to enter it. At this juncture the prisoner expressed a wish to know if she might speak a few words to the judge.

“Prisoner at the bar,” said the Chief Baron, “I am quite ready to hear what you have to say.”

There was now a hushed and breathless silence in the court, and the prisoner spoke calmly, clearly, and audibly, in the following words: —

“My lord, I am not going to say anything in defence of my conduct, or to make any excuse whatever for my crimes. I told your lordship that I was guilty, and guilty I feel that I am. It is not for my own sake, either, that I am speaking, but that all in this court may take warning from my bad example. A kinder master and mistress no servant ever had, nor had ever master or mistress a more ungrateful servant. I have long since condemned myself, and more severely than your lordship can do it. I know my crime, and I know its punishment. I feel that, even if the law acquitted me, my own conscience would still condemn me. But your lordship may proceed to pass sentence upon my body. I have already felt assurance of some peace and mercy where I alone could look for it, and thanks be to God I have not sought it in vain. It has prepared me for this moment. My master and mistress have forgiven me. Oh! that all against whom I have offended by my bad example could here do the same! I do not ask forgiveness of the law, because I have no right to do so. I have offended, and am subject to the penalty of death. If your lordship should even change my sentence, and send me out of the country for life, I should rather choose death, at this time, than banishment from my father and my friends. Temptation would no longer assail me, and I shall hope to see them, and all whom I now see before me, in a better world. I hope your lordship will forgive my words, though you must condemn me for my actions.”

To attempt a description of the effect of these few words upon the court would be impossible. The ladies hoped that mercy would be extended to her. The judge looked at her with mingled astonishment and pity.

“Are there any persons present,” said the judge, “who are ready to speak to the previous character of the prisoner?” Whereupon the prosecutor, her master, immediately ascended the witness-box. He stated that the prisoner had, during the time she lived in his service, always discharged her duty faithfully. He had reason to believe that she was neither a hardened nor an abandoned character. He knew from experience that she was most humane and faithful, and ready to risk her own life in the service of another. He here mentioned her presence of mind, and the intrepidity she had so signally displayed in saving the lives of his children. He stated, moreover, that, for his own part, he never should have prosecuted the prisoner but that the magistrates in London had bound him over so to do, and a sense of duty compelled him to adopt this course. He should always entertain, under all circumstances, a grateful recollection of her. He particularly recommended her to mercy, because he did not believe that she had committed the crime in question in conjunction with any gang of horse-stealers, but that she was the dupe of an infamous villain, who had persuaded her to steal the horse for him, and for no pecuniary benefit to herself. He believed her to be a proper object for royal clemency, and hoped that if his lordship could find any mitigating circumstances in her favour, that he would give her the full benefit of them.

George Stebbing, Esq., surgeon, Ipswich, stated that he had known the prisoner from her childhood; that in her earliest years she gave promise of such good character and conduct as would have merited the approbation of all men. He mentioned her riding the pony to Ipswich.

Margaret put her head down upon the bar, and, hiding her face in her hands, sobbed audibly before the whole court.

The doctor stated that, if she was at that moment at liberty, he would take her into his own house. He assured his lordship that it was a romantic hope of seeing her lover, that induced her to listen to the voice of the tempter who induced her to steal the horse. He prayed for mercy for her, and handed a petition to the court, signed by many persons who knew her early history, and bore testimony to her former good character.

Her uncle and aunt Leader next spoke in the highest terms of her general good character. Her first mistress at the Priory Farm gave her also an excellent character for honesty and humanity, and assured his lordship that it was an early but unfortunate attachment which had been the cause of this rash act; adding, that neither she nor her husband would object to take the prisoner again into their service.

Several other persons spoke in her favour, and so cordial and so earnest had been the testimony borne to her character, that in almost every breast a hope began to prevail that mercy would be extended to her.

The judge took an unusually long time for deliberation. He was in conversation with the high sheriff, but what passed between them did not transpire. The longer he delayed his judgement, the stronger grew the hopes of mercy. At last, turning round to the body of the court, he looked for one most awful moment steadfastly at the prisoner; and, when every eye was riveted upon him, he was seen to take the black cap from beneath his desk, and to place it upon his head. That dreadful forerunner of impending condemnation struck forcibly upon the hearts of all the people assembled. Some ladies fainted, and were carried out of court. The most perfect stillness ensued, as the Lord Chief Baron addressed the unhappy creature in the following words: —

“Prisoner at the bar, I have paid attention to your address to me, and to those around you, and am glad to find that you have made a proper use of the time which has intervened between your committal to prison and the present moment. Your words show that you are by no means ignorant of your duty as a member of society, and that you are possessed of strong sense and much good feeling. I earnestly wish that your conduct had not been such as to belie that good sense which you possess. It is, however, the more inexcusable in one who, at the time she was committing an offence, must have known its heinousness. Your sin, prisoner at the bar, has found you out quickly, and judgement as speedily follows. I will not aggravate those feelings of remorse which I am sure you experience, by any longer dwelling upon the painful situation in which your crimes have placed you. I trust your own persuasive words will be long remembered by every one present, and be a warning to all how they suffer themselves to be betrayed into crime. May your early fate warn them in time to keep themselves in the path of rectitude and honesty.