THE ESCAPE
Margaret had not heard of the capture of Laud; and he, even in his then
degraded condition, looked upon it as a thing not to be desired that she
should hear of. She had been engaged in washing for Mrs. Ripshaw. At
that time the large linen-horses belonging to the gaol stood in the
passage between the debtors' and felons' yards. Margaret had occasion to
remove those horses into the drying-ground. For this purpose she had to
pass through the governor's apartment into the thoroughfare between
these two yards. A strong palisade of oak, with sharp tenter-hooks on
their tops, stood on each side of this stone passage, leading from the
turnkey's lodge to the governor's rooms at the centre of the prison. As
Margaret was in the act of removing one of these horses, she saw a
sailor standing by the wall on the debtors' side. A sailor in prison
would interest her at any time; but this sailor looked so very like Will
Laud that she stood still with astonishment. He evidently saw her, and
as he approached toward the place where she stood, her heart was
convulsively beating, and a tremor came over her limbs. He came nearer:
it was Laud. She saw him again after the lapse of years; him whom her
earliest and warmest feelings had acknowledged as her lover. She had
never in her heart deserted him for an hour; yet he had hardly ever been
constant to anything. He approached, however, and Margaret, pretending
to be engaged in removing the linen-horses, felt her hands and feet
tremble exceedingly. She heard the well-known voice, which sounded like
music in her ears, say, "Margaret, is that you? How are you, Peggy?" She
tried all she could to summon courage to speak, but her heart was so
full, her breast heaved so rapidly, that she could not utter a word;
tears stood in her eyes, and she tried to smile through them; but, in
the act of lifting one of those great horses off the pegs, her hands and
knees could not support the weight, but down fell the horse upon her,
and cast her, with considerable force and clatter upon the stone-flag
pavement.
The noise of the fall brought out the governor and the turnkey at the
same moment, who, both concluding that the weight had overpowered her,
ran to her assistance, whilst the sailor, well knowing he could be of no
use, walked quietly away. No one in the gaol knew that he was Margaret's
lover. She was carried into the governor's house. The turnkey said he
had often removed the horses, considering they were too heavy for a
female to lift, though they were frequently carried by them. Margaret
told Mr. Ripshaw that the over-exertion had for a moment produced a
dizziness in her head, and a sudden faintness came upon her before she
fell. She dreaded, however, lest any one should imagine the real cause
of her accident. Her friend, the surgeon of the gaol, Mr. George
Stebbing, was sent for; and when he saw her he bled her, considering
that she had received some internal injury. It was a good thing he did
so, for it reduced her to such real weakness as confined her some days
to her bed, and afforded time for reflection.
Mrs. Ripshaw had promised Mrs. Cobbold, that if Margaret should be ill
at any time she would let her know it, and she now fulfilled that
promise. She sent her a note to tell her how the accident occurred, and
how she was. Mrs. Cobbold came immediately, and found her in an
unaccountable state of agitation. She at once asked Margaret if
anything particular had occurred, but she elicited nothing satisfactory.
No one in the gaol except Margaret knew Will Laud, and no one took any
particular notice of him but her. A letter, which was afterwards found
upon his person, shows how truly that poor girl had loved so unworthy a
man. Opportunities of occasional words were at different times offered
and seized upon by them, though these were few and far between. By
these, however, Margaret learned that he was a ruined man, sentenced to
a year's imprisonment, and to pay a fine of one hundred pounds to the
king; that in all probability his confinement might be for years, as
everything he possessed had been confiscated; his boats, ships, and
stock, had been seized; and yet imprisonment was to continue till the
penalty was paid.
The letter which Margaret wrote to him about this period, and contrived
to give into his hands, showed how deeply she entered into his past as
well as present feelings, and is a noble specimen of her devoted
affection:--
"FELONS' CELL, Jan. 10th, 1800.
"DEAR WILLIAM,
"You may guess my surprise to hear you say that John Cook knew
nothing about you; that he invented a lie to get me to steal the
horse. This accords, however, with my beloved mistress's opinion.
Oh! how glad I am that I did not let out the secret that I had
money of yours in hand! I should have lost everything if I had. He,
a villain, induced me to go to London with the hope of seeing you
at the Dog and Bone, Lambeth. He told me that you were hiding from
the fear of arrest, and had confided to him your place of safety.
He even showed me a letter purporting to come from you. Oh! what an
artful villain!--what punishment he deserves!
"But, dear William, make yourself easy about the fine. I will send
for my uncle Leader before the time of your imprisonment expires,
and the hundred and thirty guineas shall be given up to you. He
shall pay the fine for you, and shall give you the remainder. You
will own now that I am trustworthy. Oh! how happy I am that I did
not make away with it, nor suffer others to do so! I kept it for
you, and it comes into use at the moment it is most wanted. Nobody
need know how it is disposed of; only remember your poor Margaret,
that she longs for the shortening of her confinement, that she may
join herself with your fortunes wherever they may be.
"You will soon regain your liberty. I may have to complete my seven
years here. But will you be faithful and wait for me? You promise
fairly. You say you will live at Sudbourn, and try to get an honest
living. Every hour of the day I am thinking about you; and at night
I dream sometimes that I am sailing upon the ocean with you;
sometimes that I am living with my father and brother. But dreams
are deceitful. I hope you will never prove such to me again. I am
willing to join my fate to yours whenever I obtain my release. Pray
God that may be soon. Oh! that it could come on the day of your own
release! but come or not then, believe me ever
"Your affectionate
"MARGARET CATCHPOLE."
Not long after the date of this letter, application was made to the
Secretary of State for her pardon; but, unfortunately for her, the same
causes which had operated against her before still prevailed. The crime
of horse-stealing was at this date at its highest pitch, and depredators
of this kind became so bold, that it was thought necessary to give a
positive denial to the application in Margaret's favour. The prospect of
her release, therefore, did not appear a bright one, and every month
seemed to make it less probable.
The time for the departure of Laud out of prison now drew nigh, and
Margaret wrote to her uncle, requesting him to come and see her, which
he did; and she then gave him full powers to withdraw the 130 guineas
from Mr. Smith, and requested him to pay L100 into the hands of Mr.
Ripshaw on a certain day; namely, the 5th of March, the day previous to
Laud's term of imprisonment expiring.
Mr. Leader was well assured that she would never draw the money, except
to restore it to Will Laud. He asked her the plain question. She gave
him an honest answer. She told him that Will was then in prison, and
that his liberty depended upon the punctuality of the payment. Her
honesty with her uncle saved her from detection, for, in all
probability, had not Mr. Leader had more prudence than she had, it might
have been suspected by the gaoler. He at once suggested that Mr. Smith,
who was not known to have any connexion with her, should be requested to
pay the fine to Mr. Ripshaw, in behalf of the prisoner. It struck
Margaret, the moment it was mentioned, and she felt surprised that the
hurry and anxiety of her own feelings should have so greatly blinded her
as to leave her destitute of common prudence in this matter.
It was on the 3rd of March, in the year 1800, that Margaret was destined
to undergo the severest temptation she had ever yet experienced. She had
been employed in washing for the prisoners, and was engaged hanging out
the linen in the passage on one of the clothes-horses used for that
purpose, when she was accosted from the debtors' side in a well-known
voice, "Margaret! what a capital ladder one of those horses would make,
if set against the wall!"
She turned round, and there stood Will Laud. Cautiously she looked along
the passage to see if any one was near. She pretended to be busily
engaged; at the same time she said,--
"Ah, William! I understand you. I wish I could make my escape with you,
and I would; but I fear the thing is too difficult."
"You might manage it, Margaret, when the governor goes to Bury with the
prisoners."
"How, William! How?"
"You have the horse, and you have the linen line. Look around the wall,
and see if you cannot find a place of escape. You must be tired of your
captivity. I owe my liberty to you; and if I can once get you out of
this place, no power on earth shall separate us again."
"But where should I go, William, if I got out?"
"To my sister's at Sudbourn, Lucy Keeley. I will tell her to expect
you."
"That would do. I will look round and see if it can be done. On the 19th
or 20th of this month, Mr. Ripshaw goes to Bury with the prisoners. On
Monday the 24th, and Tuesday the 25th, are our two great washing days.
It must be one of those nights. Will you be waiting for me at the end of
the lane, near St. Helen's Church?"
"I will be waiting for you, never fear. I will have a sailor's jacket
and hat to disguise you in."
"Well, the trial is worth the risk. I will confide in you once more,
Laud; but if you deceive me, then, indeed, I care not what becomes of
me. But I will trust you. Go!--There is some one coming."
Laud departed, and Margaret busied herself with the linen. That day she
had many things given her to mend. She contrived also to get a candle,
under the pretence of working late. And such was the confidence which
was placed in her, and such the quantity of work she performed, that she
was trusted beyond any other prisoner in the house.
Margaret knew nothing of the penalty the law would compel her to pay for
breaking out of prison. She knew nothing of the bond by which the gaoler
was bound, in case of the escape of any of his prisoners. She saw but
her lover and liberty, and did not suppose it any great offence, even if
she should be detected in the attempt.
Her uncle Leader paid her a visit on the 5th, and gave her the thirty
guineas, telling her that the hundred guineas were lodged in the hands
of Mr. Ripshaw for the discharge of Will Laud.
"I will give William this money myself," thought Margaret; but she
breathed not one word of her intended escape to her uncle; and the good
man left her with the conscious happiness, that let her term of
confinement be what it might, she had been instrumental in procuring the
release of her lover.
It was a proud day for Margaret, that 6th of March, 1800. From the
felons' side she could see her lover depart out of gaol in company with
Mr. Ripshaw. She saw him go to the turnkey's lodge; and with a heart at
the same time bounding with the hope of liberty, she walked quietly
round the felons' yard, looking anxiously up at those long spikes to see
where the widest place could be found for her to get her body through.
That very hour she discovered a place where one of the spikes had been
broken off. She looked at it and sighed. She was very thoughtful about
it. It dwelt upon her mind night and day, till she had fully resolved to
make the attempt at that very spot.
At night, and early in the morning, she was at work for herself. Out of
one sheet she contrived to make a smock-frock, such as shepherds wear
over their clothes. Out of the other she made a pair of sailor's
trousers. These she laid upon her bed in such an ingenious manner, that
no one going into her cell would discover any difference in the usual
make of it.
Anxiously did she watch the hours for the departure of Mr. Ripshaw with
the prisoners for trial at Bury. In the very cell next to her own was a
felon to be taken away. The anxious time came, and Margaret saw the
governor and prisoners take their departure.
Meantime, Laud, directly he left the gaol, went to his sister's house at
Sudbourn. He reached that place the same night. He told his sister who
it was that had paid the fine for him, and thus completely won her heart
for Margaret. His plan was fixed to get off with Margaret in a
smuggler's boat, and get a cast to Holland, where he intended to marry
and settle. He told his sister his plan, and she approved it, and
promised to receive Margaret.
He was not long in ascertaining what boats were expected on the coast.
He had an interview with one David Shaw, the master of a cutter
belonging to Captain Merrells, and with him came to an understanding
that, some day after the 25th, when wind and weather should suit, he
should send a boat ashore for him. A red handkerchief tied round his hat
should be the signal that he was ready. He told him that he should be
accompanied by a friend, whom he wished to go over the water with him.
All these things were arranged, and, as far as they went, were in some
sense honourable. In the meantime he promised to assist in landing any
cargoes along the shore. And this part of the contract he performed.
On the 19th of March, Mr. Ripshaw, with seven prisoners, departed for
Bury. The business of the assizes began on Thursday, the 20th, and did
not terminate until that day week, the 27th. On Monday and Tuesday the
wash took place. On these occasions the female convicts are all locked
up in one large room, from seven o'clock in the morning until seven in
the evening; their food being brought to them in the washing-room. At
seven in the evening they all go into the felons' yard for exercise and
air. They usually give their signal that the wash is finished by rapping
the door about seven o'clock. This evening, Tuesday, the 25th, Margaret
contrived by various means to prolong the wash till nearly eight
o'clock, and as she had some kind of acknowledged authority and
influence among her fellow-convicts, she insisted upon the signal not
being given till the work was completely finished; so that at eight
o'clock it was quite dark. They were let out of the room into the
felons' yard at that time for one half hour. Some were accustomed to
saunter about, or to have a game of romps. Some, when the season
admitted, would weed the flower-beds; for Mr. Ripshaw was a great fancy
florist, and used to raise the best ranunculuses, carnations, and
polyanthuses, of any person in the town. His garden adjoined the felons'
walk, and was only separated from it by a very low paling. Margaret had
continual access to the garden, and used to take considerable interest
in the culture of the plants.
She was greatly disappointed to find that all the linen-horses stood on
the stone area, between the debtors' and felons' yards. She had hoped
that they would have been carried by the turnkey to the drying ground in
the garden, as usual, ready for the linen in the morning. Owing to some
cause or other, they were not there that night.
This was a sad disappointment, for she had made up her mind to escape
that very night. Could she be suspected? Had anybody betrayed her? No,
it was impossible. As the turnkey passed the palings she cried out to
him, "You have not put out the horses for us to-night?"
"No, Margaret," he replied, "we have all been too busy cleaning the
cells and yards; but they shall be put out the first thing in the
morning."
The reply was both satisfactory and unsatisfactory. It convinced her she
was not suspected; but declared that she must expect no help from the
linen-horses. She was glad, however, to see that the lines were on the
posts for the coarse linen, and the crotches, or props, in their proper
places.
She looked around for something to help her. The gaol wall was nearly
twenty-two feet high, and the _chevaux de frise_ three feet from the
point of one revolving spike to its extreme point. What could she get to
assist her? At one time she thought of pulling up a portion of the
paling for a ladder. She tried her strength at it, but it was too much
for her. She then turned her eye upon a large frame, which was used for
the flower-beds. It covered a long bed, and the awning usually placed
upon it to keep the sun off the flowers in the summer was not there. She
tried her strength at this, and lifted the legs upon which it stood
about a foot upwards. This she resolved to make her ladder. She looked
up at the narrow spot where the iron spike had been broken, and which
was close to the shoulder or prop of the _chevaux de frise_. Hope beamed
brightly upon her as she thought of her liberty. Margaret resolved to
make the attempt at midnight. At half-past eight the convicts all went
in to supper, and afterwards retired to their cells. But Margaret, the
moment she reached hers, contrived to slip out of it again, with the
things she had made for her disguise, into the adjoining one, which
stood open; and she crept under the bed of the felon who was gone to
Bury for trial. She had, as usual, closed her own door, and lay
anxiously waiting in her hiding place the turnkey's approach. She heard
him coming along, and asking the several prisoners, as he came, if they
were in their cells. They answered his summons, and then she heard them
locked up; and now came the challenge to her own door.
"Margaret, are you there?"
She put her lips to the wall of the cell where she was, and answered,
"Yes." It sounded exactly as if she was in bed in her own cell; and to
her great joy she heard the key turn in the iron lock, and the bolt
shoot into its place. She breathed for a moment freely, but the next
moment she experienced such a sudden revulsion as few could have borne
without detection. To her confusion and dismay, the turnkey entered the
very cell where she lay concealed under the bed. He walked up to the
iron-grated window, and, as usual, the casement stood open for the
benefit of air through the passage, and, in a soliloquizing manner,
said, "Ah! poor Sarah! you will never sleep upon this bed again!"
In breathless agony did Margaret dread two things equally fatal to her
project. One was, that he should hear her breath in the stillness of the
night, and discover her; the other, that he should lock the door upon
her. She knew that it was not usual to lock the doors of those cells
which contained no prisoners, but she dreaded lest the same absence of
mind which made him saunter into Sarah Lloyd's cell should make him look
the door. What a state of suspense! How did her blood course through her
frame! she could hear her heart beat! She was presently relieved from
her suspense, for the turnkey, having completed his duty in locking up
all his prisoners, quietly departed out of the cell, and left the door,
as usual, standing wide open. Never was relief more opportune or welcome
than this to her overcharged heart. The clock struck the hours of nine,
ten, and eleven, and Margaret had not stirred. She now rose, took her
shoes in her hand, and her bundle under her arm; she then managed to tie
it up with an apron-string over her shoulders, and, with the slightest
tread, stole along the stone passage. A mouse would scarcely have been
disturbed by her as she descended the front of steps that led to the
felons' yard.
To her great comfort she found the door unbolted; for the turnkey,
having locked every one up, saw no necessity for bolting the yard door.
Silently she opened it; it creaked so little, that the wind prevented
any sound reaching beyond the precincts of the door. She made her way to
the flower-stand in the governor's garden, lifted the frame out of the
ground and set it up endways directly under the broken spike. It reached
a little more than half way up the wall, being about thirteen feet long.
She then went and took the linen line off the posts, and made a running
noose at one end of it. She then took the longest clothes-prop she could
find, and passed the noose over the horn of it. She mounted the frame by
the help of the prop, and standing upon it she lifted the line up and
passed the noose over the shoulder of the _chevaux de frise_, then,
pulling it tight and close to the wall, it slipped down the iron and
became fixed.
Now came the greatest difficulty she had ever overcome in her life. She
drew herself up by the line to the top of the wall, and laying her body
directly upon the roller where the spike was broken, with the help of
one hand grasping the shoulder of iron, she balanced herself until she
had pulled up all the line and let it fall down the other side of the
wall; then, taking hold of the rope with both hands, she bent her body
forward, and the whole body of spikes revolved, turning her literally
heels over head on the outer side of the gaol wall. Was there ever such
a desperate act performed by any woman before? Had not the fact been
proved beyond all doubt, the statement might be deemed incredible. But
Margaret Catchpole did exactly as here described; and after the
oscillation of her body was over from the jerk, she quietly let herself
down in perfect safety on the other side.
Just as she alighted on the earth St. Clement's chimes played for twelve
o'clock. It was a gently sloping bank from the wall, and a dry fosse,
which she crossed, easily climbed over the low wooden palings against
the road, and made her way for the lane against St. Helen's church.
There she found Will Laud in readiness to receive her, which he did with
an ardour and devotion that told he was sincere.
They fled to an empty cart-shed on the Woodbridge road. Here Laud kept
watch at the entrance whilst Margaret put on her sailor's dress. She
soon made her appearance on the road with her white trousers, hat, and
blue jacket, looking completely like a British tar. They did not wait to
be overtaken, but off they started for Woodbridge, and arrived at the
ferry just as the dawning streaks of daylight began to tinge the east.
Their intention was to cross the Sutton Walks and Hollesley Heath to
Sudbourn. Unluckily for them, however, who should they meet at the ferry
but old Robinson Crusoe, the fisherman, who, having been driven round
the point at Felixstowe, was compelled to come up the Deben to
Woodbridge for the sale of his fish. The old man gave them no sign of
recognition, but he knew them both, and, with a tact that few possessed,
saw how the wind blew. But without speaking to either of them, he
proceeded with his basket to the town.
At this they both rejoiced, and as they took their journey across that
barren tract of land, it seemed to them like traversing a flowery mead.