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
Lord Viscount Brome.
Sir John Blois, Bart.
Philip Bowes Broke, Esq.
Charles Berners, jun., Esq.
George Golding, Esq.
William Middleton, Esq.
Eleazar Davy, Esq.
John Frere, Esq.
Matthias Kerrison, Esq.
Wolfran Lewis, Esq.
John Sheppard, Esq.
Francis Broke, Esq.
Mileson Edgar, Esq.
Robert Trotman, Esq.
John Bleadon, Esq.
John Cobbold, Esq.
Thomas Green, Esq.
Joseph Burch Smith, Esq.
Thomas Shaw, Esq.
John Vernon, Esq.
James Reeve, Esq.
James Stutter, Esq.
FOR THE LIBERTY
Sir Charles Bunbury, Bart.
Sir Charles Davers, Bart.
Sir Thomas Cullum, Bart.
Sir Harry Parker, Bart.
Sir William Rowley, Bart.
Nathaniel Lee Acton, Esq.
Capel Lofft, Esq.
Samuel Brice, Esq.
William Parker, Esq.
Richard Moore, Esq.
Robert Walpole, Esq.
James Oakes, Esq.
Matthias Wright, Esq.
Abraham Reeve, Esq.
John Oliver, Esq.
John Pytches, Esq.
Thomas Cocksedge, Esq.
John Cooke, Esq.
George Jackson, Esq.
William Kemp Jardine, Esq.
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.
"I must say that, in the whole course of my judicial career, I have
never met with a person who so well knew right from wrong, and who so
extraordinarily perverted that gift. I must say, likewise, that I have
never met with any one who has received so good a former character at
such a moment as the present. The representations that have been made of
your past conduct shall be forwarded to the king, with whom alone the
prerogative of mercy in your case exists.
"It would be cruelty, however, in me did I not candidly tell you, that
the crime for which you are now to suffer is one of such frequent, bold,
and in this day, daring commission, as to defy the authority of the law;
so that persons detected and brought to judgement, as you are, stand but
little chance of mercy. It is not in my power to give you any hope of
escaping the full punishment of the law, but I will represent your case
this very night, before I sleep, to the proper quarter whence any
alteration in your behalf can alone be obtained.
"I need scarcely tell you not to rely upon any false hopes which friends
may hold out to you, who would grieve the more could they see the
danger and distress which they thereby occasion. Let me rather entreat
you to continue that attention to the interest of your soul which has
already been well instructed and fortified against the present crisis.
You have to prepare, prisoner at the bar, for a greater trial, a more
awful moment; and I hope you will make good use of the short time which
remains in preparation for eternity. You appear to have been well
assisted hitherto, and the good instruction seems to have fallen upon
productive ground. I hope the increase will continue to the day of your
death.
"It only remains for me to fulfil my duty, by passing the sentence of
the court upon you, which is--
"That you be taken from the place where you now stand, back to the place
whence you came, and thence to the place of execution, and there be
hanged by the neck until you be dead; and may God have mercy upon your
soul!"
At these last words tears of agony overwhelmed many in the court; but
Margaret herself seemed to be less overcome by the sentence than by the
kind words of the judge.
She respectfully curtsied to him and the court, and, in the act of
retiring, fell into her father's arms. She was conveyed back to the gaol
in a swoon.
In the meantime every exertion was made to represent her case favourably
to the judge. A petition was signed by many of the grand jury, as well
as the petty jury, in her behalf, and strong hopes were entertained of a
reprieve.
These things were not mentioned to the prisoner, who returned to the
cell of condemned felons, to employ her time in "seeking that peace
which the world cannot give."
A keeper constantly attended her, and a female sat up with her all that
night. She requested to have a Bible, and pen, ink, and paper: these
were granted her. She did not sleep, but read the Sacred Book, sometimes
aloud, sometimes to herself. She also seemed to find great relief in
writing to her friends. One letter which she wrote to her uncle, and
another to her mistress, on that very night, will best evince the state
of her mind and feelings.
"MY DEAR UNCLE,
"This will reach you to-morrow before you leave Bury. Give my love
and best thanks to my aunt and friends who spoke this day in behalf
of your unhappy niece; but, when you arrive at Ipswich, be sure and
call and thank that dear old gentleman, Doctor Stebbing. I know he
feels very much for me, but tell him not to distress himself, as if
I were to be lost for ever. Tell him I hope to see him in a better
world. He has been very kind to me in those days when I was most
forlorn, and my Saviour, who then guided me to him, will give him
his reward. For He says, that a cup of cold water given to one of
His most poor and wretched children, shall not be forgotten.
"Dear uncle, show this letter to the gentleman in whose hands you
have placed the money which I gave you for such purpose, and tell
him that I wish it to be restored to William Laud, its rightful
owner, if he can be found, and will receive it again. If he is not
found, after my death, within the space of one year, I wish it to
be divided into four equal portions: one for my father, one for my
brother Edward, one for yourself, and one for my aunt.
"Do not mourn for me, dear uncle, for I sincerely believe in God's
forgiveness of my past sins, through the merits of Jesus Christ, my
Saviour. My prayer to God is, 'Increase my faith, O Lord! and
pardon me, as thou didst the malefactor upon the cross;' for I
feel, dear uncle, as if I was justly in that thief's condemnation.
I hope soon, very soon, to be in a better state, and in a happier
world. I wish you and my aunt to come to Ipswich and see me once
more before I suffer. Tell my aunt I wish her to purchase something
decent for my funeral. She will find some money in the corner of
my box, under the linen. Oh! how little did he, who gave me that
money, and who so worthily esteemed me, how little did he think
that any portion of it would be devoted to such a purpose! My dear
uncle, go and comfort my poor father, and my good young brother: I
will write to them before another day is past. I wish my bones to
lie beside my mother's and sister's, in Nacton churchyard. I am
told that on Saturday week I shall probably suffer death. God grant
I may then be prepared!
"We shall all return to Ipswich as soon as the nine prisoners, whom
Mr. Ripshaw brought to Bury, shall have been tried. Pray for me,
dear uncle! Warn the dear children by my fate. I should like to see
them myself. I wish I could impress upon their young minds the
dreadful feelings of guilt which I have endured, and so prevent
their commission of any crime. I am going to write now to my dear
mistress, and, as you return to-morrow, you must take that letter
and deliver it. God bless you, dear uncle! God's peace be with you!
So no more from your poor affectionate niece,
"MARGARET CATCHPOLE.
"Bury Gaol, August 9th, 1797.
"To MR. LEADER, Six Bells Inn, Bury."
"To MRS. COBBOLD.
"HONOURED MADAM,
"My trial is over, and I dare say my dear master has already told
you the fate of your unhappy servant. He cannot, however, tell you
what I can, and what will better please your good heart than the
account of my trial, namely, that I am not so disconsolate as many
persons may think I am. No; God be praised, and thanks to those
dear friends who visited me in the Ipswich gaol; and chiefly thanks
to you, among them, my dear lady; my heart is consoled with the
prospect of soon seeing better things than this wicked world can
show me. Oh! my dear lady, I hope to see you among those bright
shining spirits who live for ever in harmony and love. Oh! how
happy shall we then be, free from fear of pain or grief! I have
just been reading that beautiful passage, where it is written, 'God
shall wipe all tears from their eyes, and there shall be no more
death, neither sorrow nor crying; neither shall there be any more
pain.' Oh! what a different world must that be to this; and what
should make us grieve to leave this world? It is only the fear of
future wrath that can prevent our joyfully looking up to heaven
through the valley of death. And, dearest lady, if such a wretched
being as I am can hope in that Saviour who died for me and all the
world, surely, you, dear lady, must have a bright, a pleasant
prospect, before you. Heaven bless you, for all your goodness to me
in the days of my prosperity, but more for your Christian charity
in the day of my adversity! The judge, who really, I think,
reminded me of you, told me I had been well instructed; I wish he
knew you, dear madam, and he would then be assured of it. Thank my
kind master for his goodness to his unworthy servant. I had no hope
of mercy from the first, and the judge told me not to trust in any
such idea in this world. He spoke much less severely than I
expected; but I was prepared for his condemnation, and I am now
preparing my mind for the day of execution. I find great comfort in
the Scriptures, because I have no secret pangs of unconfessed
guilt, or any wish in my heart to cover or palliate my offences. My
trial is over, and the same God who sustained me through it, will,
I hope, preserve my spirit faithful to the last. Every moment seems
valuable to me, dear lady, now that I know them to be so soon
numbered; and I scarcely like to lose one even in sleep. Nature,
however, is weary with fatigue and anxiety, though my spirit seems
so wakeful. If I go to sleep, it will be in prayer for you and all
my friends. That God may bless you and all your dear family, is
the heartfelt desire of your unfortunate, though ever grateful
servant,
"MARGARET CATCHPOLE.
"BURY GAOL, August 9th, 1797.
"P.S.--My good uncle Leader will bring this, of whom you can ask
any particulars, as he was in court during my trial."
On the 11th of August, a letter arrived from the Home Office, in London,
giving full powers to the judge to exercise the prerogative of mercy in
her case, as he might see fit. The judge was not in court at the time,
but in his own rooms. He sent immediately for the sheriff and the
prosecutor, Mr. Cobbold, and explained to them the purport of the letter
he had received. He thought, however, that some punishment should mark
the sense of crime. He therefore commuted the sentence of death for the
shortest period of transportation for seven years; and he signed the
necessary document for such purpose. He intimated that that period might
be shortened by the good conduct of the prisoner in gaol; for as there
was great difficulty now in sending prisoners to the new settlement, her
portion of confinement would most likely be spent in the Ipswich Gaol.
The judge added, that the woman appeared to be a most sensible creature;
and he made many most minute inquiries concerning her education and
habits. He said that she had conducted herself during her trial in a
very becoming manner, and he hoped that her punishment would end with
half the term of confinement. This would depend upon the representations
of the visiting magistrates.