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."
She arrived at Ipswich that afternoon, and took up her abode at her
former lodgings at the Widow Syers', a distant relative of her mother's,
though by no means a desirable person for Margaret to abide with at such
a time. She did not go, as she ought to have done, to her good mistress,
who would have instituted every inquiry for her; but she chose to pursue
her own course. She saw the old coachman, and learned from him that he
had seen Laud at the Salutation, in Carr Street, only the day before.
She did not stay to ask any more questions, but off she went towards
the public-house in question. On her way, it was her misfortune to meet
with that vagabond, John Cook, the very fellow who had so often made a
dupe of her before, and who was now the cause of her performing an act
that is probably without precedent in female history. Intent but upon
one thing, the obtaining an interview with her lover, the mainspring of
all her prospects in life, and the centre 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 found by this fellow's conversation with
the landlord, that Laud and he had spent the previous evening at that
house. This confirmed her belief in his story, and enabled him to make
her the easy dupe of all the vile inventions which were to 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."
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 Bush to 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."
Margaret read this letter with mingled feelings of pain and pleasure,
but she implicitly believed every word of it, yet she did not like
Laud's plan. "Why not go and borrow the horse of old Teager," said she,
"if it must be so? I know he will lend it to me."
"What, and tell him you want his stable-dress to ride to London in? Fine
fun he'd make of it, would he not? No, no, Margaret, that will never
do. We must take it with French leave, or let it alone."
"I wish I could see him by some other means. I do not like his plan; and
yet, perhaps, he has none other to offer," 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 was upon the floor; she took it up gently,
and as cautiously receded with it down to the stable again, closing the
door without noise.
"So far so good, Margaret. Now, do you dress yourself there in the empty
stall, while I saddle and bridle the further horse."
This, however, was more than John Cook could do, for Rochford was of
such a spirit, and sent out at him with such vengeance that he dared not
go up to him; nor could he without Margaret's help put the saddle or
bridle on to Crop. She dressed herself as quickly as she could in the
coachman's stable-dress; he being a little fellow, and Margaret rather
tall, they only hung about her a little loosely, but were not too long
for her. When she came from the stall, after rolling her own things in a
bundle, and putting them into the very bottom of the seed-box, under the
manger, and covering them with hay, she looked exactly like a young
groom. She went up to the Crop horse and patted him on the neck, whilst
her companion saddled and bridled him; she then tied some straw round
his feet, so that no noise should be made in the stable-yard, and out
the gallant fellow was led, ready for such a journey and for such a
rider as never before had mounted his back.
"Now my girl," exclaimed Cook, "screw up your courage to the start! Come
into the meadow. I can let you out on to the 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 Bone public-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's new saddle and bridle, and a
small stick of his own. He observed that it must have been an old
practitioner, by the straw being littered down to the door, and pointed
out to Thomas that the horse's hoofs had been covered with straw to
prevent them clattering on the pavement of the yard. 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 the
_County Press_, with a request that copies might be struck off
immediately, in time for the nine o'clock coaches to London. It was to
this effect:--
"TWENTY GUINEAS REWARD.
"Whereas, last night, or this morning, May 24th, a fine 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 went on they heard at every toll-gate of a young man having
gone through on just the description of horse given, so that it was a
warm scent before them.
When they arrived at Chelmsford, through a misdirection of some person,
they were told that the same horse was seen going on to Maldon, in the
hundreds of Essex; and they had just given the post-boy orders to turn
off the London road in pursuit, as Mr. Alston, of Diss, rode into the
yard of the Black Boy as the pursuers were in the act of getting into
the chaise.
"Pray, sir, may I be so bold as to ask if you came far along the London
road?"
"I left town this morning, and am now on my journey to Manningtree. Why
do you ask?"
"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, took up 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 manoeuvre; 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 come into
the yard, with a paper in his hand, which proved to be one of the
identical hand-bills, offering a reward of twenty guineas for the very
horse he had just bought. "Peter," he called out, "tell the young man
just to walk that horse once more up the yard, and come you here."
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.