PURSUIT AND CAPTURE
The morning after Margaret's escape the turnkey was alarmed by the call
of the gardener, who came early to the prison to prune some trees in the
governor's garden. He told the turnkey there was a rope hanging down the
wall, as if some one had escaped during the night. They soon discovered
the frame against the wall; footmarks along the beds, and the linen
crotch, all told the same tale. The turnkey then ran to the men's cells,
and found them all bolted. He did the same to the women's, and found
them likewise fastened just as he left them the night before. He then
examined every window. Not a bar was moved. He did this without speaking
a word to any one. At the usual hour he called up the prisoners, and
marched them out of their cells. Margaret's was the last, at the end of
the passage. When he opened it, no one answered his summons. He walked
in; no one was there. The bed had not been slept in, and was without
sheets. He then made Mrs. Ripshaw acquainted with the facts.
Astonishment and alarm were depicted upon her countenance. Her husband's
absence made the circumstance the more distressing.
Search was made in every part of the gaol, but no trace of Margaret
could be found. The women with whom she washed the day previously all
declared that they knew nothing of her escape. They declared that they
saw her go before them to the farther end of the passage to her own
cell. But how could she escape and lock the door? The turnkey was quite
sure he had secured her in her own cell, for that he went into the one
adjoining after he had, as he supposed, locked her up in hers. It came
out, however, in the course of inquiry, that he remembered her asking
him about the horses not being set out for the wash; and the women
declared that Margaret had been very peremptory about not giving the
signal before eight o'clock. These things seemed to indicate a design to
escape, and carried some suspicion of the fact.
Mrs. Ripshaw, however, was not satisfied, but sent a swift messenger on
horseback to Bury St. Edmunds, with a note to acquaint her husband with
the circumstances. Mrs. Ripshaw also wrote to Mrs. Cobbold in the
greatest agitation, begging of her, if she knew where she was, to give
information of it, as her husband and two sureties were bound, under a
penalty of five hundred pounds each, to answer for the escape of any
prisoner from the gaol. Such a stir was created in the town of Ipswich
by this event as was scarcely ever before witnessed. People flocked to
the gaol to see the spot whence Peggy had made her escape, and many were
the reports falsely circulated concerning her.
It is not easy to describe the grief and consternation which was truly
felt by Margaret's dearest and best friend. She knew the consequences of
this rash act; that, if she was taken, it was death, without any hope of
reprieve.
She ordered her carriage, and went to the gaol, and was as much, or even
more astonished than the inmates of the prison could be. She soon
convinced Mrs. Ripshaw that she had not the slightest idea of any such
intention on the part of her late servant, neither could she tell where
she was gone. She made inquiries whether she had been seen talking with
any of the male prisoners; but no clue could be gained here. Mrs.
Cobbold was one of those whose decided opinion was, that she must have
had somebody as an accomplice; but every soul denied it. This lady
returned home in the greatest distress and uncertainty. Messengers were
dispatched to Nacton, to Brandiston, and even into Cambridgeshire, to
inquire after her.
When Mr. Ripshaw returned from Bury, he found some of the magistrates
in the gaol. He had formed a very strong opinion in his own mind, and
requested the visiting magistrates to examine the turnkey immediately.
He was summoned, and examined before Colonel Edgar, Mr. Gibson, and Mr.
Neale, and closely questioned. His answers were not deemed satisfactory.
The magistrates remanded him for a time, and conversed together upon the
subject. They were of opinion that somebody must have bribed the man,
and that he must have let her out, and have put the things as they were
found, as a blind to turn suspicion from himself.
He was again summoned, and given in custody, on suspicion of having
assisted the prisoner's escape.
In the meantime, every exertion was made to discover the prisoner, but
without any success. The following hand-bill was printed and circulated
in every direction:--
"FIFTY POUNDS REWARD.
"Whereas, on Tuesday night, the 25th of March, or early on Wednesday
morning, Margaret Catchpole, a female convict, confined in the Ipswich
gaol, made her escape therefrom, either by scaling the wall, or by the
connivance of the turnkey, this is to give notice, that the above reward
shall be given to any person or persons who will bring the said Margaret
Catchpole to Mr. Ripshaw, the gaoler; and one-half that sum to any
person or persons furnishing such information as shall lead to her
apprehension. And notice is hereby given, that any person concealing or
harbouring the said Margaret Catchpole shall, after this notice, if
detected, be, by order of the magistrates, punished as the law directs.
"N.B.--The prisoner is a tall and dark person, with short hair, black
eyes, and of intelligent countenance. She had on the gaol dress, and
took away with her the two sheets belonging to her bed.
"IPSWICH GAOL, March 28th, 1800."
This notice was circulated far and near, and furnished topics for
conversation throughout the county.
It so happened that some of the servants of Mrs. Cobbold mentioned the
subject of the reward to the old fisherman, Robinson Crusoe, as he stood
at the back-door with his basket of fish.
"Well, Robin, have you heard of the reward? Have you heard of Margaret's
escape from the gaol!"
"No; but I think I have seen her, or the foul fiend has played me one of
his shabby tricks."
"Seen her, Robin! Where?"
"I saw that fellow Laud, and somebody very like her, go across the
Sutton Ferry together. She might deceive anybody else, but the foul
fiend showed her to me, though she was in a sailor's dress. I told your
mistress, long ago, that no good would come of Margaret."
This news reached the parlour, and was soon communicated to Mr. Ripshaw,
who quickly had an interview with Mrs. Cobbold, and from her he learned
the intimacy existing between Will Laud, his late prisoner, and
Margaret, and could not doubt that he had assisted in her escape. He
soon ascertained the probable bearings of Laud's destination, and lost
no time in prosecuting the pursuit. He went off for Woodbridge and
Sutton Ferry directly. The ferryman corroborated the testimony of old
Colson as to two sailors, a slight one and a stout one, passing over the
river in his boat, on the morning of the 26th. They went off directly,
he said, for Eyke. Thither the gaoler pursued his course, and thence to
Sudbourn.
He found out that two sailors had been seen in that neighbourhood such
as he described them, and that they lodged at Mrs. Keeley's. He took a
constable along with him to the cottage, and at once demanded his
prisoner. The woman at first denied all knowledge of the persons he
sought, but, after threatening her with taking her off to gaol at once,
she confessed that her brother and Margaret were down on the coast,
waiting for a boat to carry them off to sea; she even confessed that
Margaret slept with her only the night before, and that a report having
reached them of the reward offered for her capture, she had put a
smock-frock over her sailor's jacket, and was assisting Keeley, her
husband, in keeping his flock upon the marsh saltings.
The constable of Sudbourn and Mr. Ripshaw went off immediately for the
saltings. They met Keeley, the shepherd, returning with his flock, to
fold them upon the fallows; but no one was with him. He was a shrewd,
sharp, surly fellow, and in a moment understood what was in the wind.
Mr. Ripshaw began the attack. "Constable, take that man into custody."
"Where's your warrant, Mr. Gaoler? 'Old birds are not to be caught with
chaff.' Now, then, your warrant for my apprehension, and I am the man to
go with you. Come, show me the warrant at once; or, you no sooner lift
your hand against me than I will show you what resistance is, and you
shall take the consequences of an assault upon my person."
The fellow stood with his brawny limbs displayed before them, and his
two fierce, rough-coated, short, flap-eared dogs wagging their stumps of
tails, and looking earnestly in their master's face, to see if he gave
the signal for them to attack either, or both the gaoler and the
constable. It was clear that they must go upon another tack.
The shepherd gave a shrill whistle to his dogs, and on they dashed,
driving the sheep towards the fold.
They proceeded directly along the shingled hardware to the beach, or
rather to the shore of the river-side, which in those parts much
resembles the sea-shore. The revenue cutter's boat was then going across
the stream of the Alde; they hailed it, and the officer in command
ordered his men to return.
It was young Barry who came on shore from the boat, and he immediately
walked a little way apart with the gaoler, who explained to him the
nature of his business; and painful as its connexion with Margaret
Catchpole made it to Barry, his sense of duty compelled him to render
the assistance required. Accordingly, they were soon seated in the stern
of the boat, and were rowed by his men towards the spot, where, on the
main shore, Laud and Margaret stood, anxiously watching the approach of
a boat from a vessel on the sea.
There they stood, not only unconscious of approaching danger, but
congratulating themselves upon the prospect of a termination of all
their troubles. Joyfully did they watch the boat coming over the billows
of the sea, not seeing the other boat approaching them from the river. A
few minutes more, and they would have been beyond the reach of gaolers
and of prisons.
Neither Laud nor Margaret saw them until they came down upon them,
headed by the gaoler, whose voice Margaret instantly recognized. With a
wild shriek that made the welkin ring, she rushed into the sea, and
would at once have perished, had not Laud caught her, as a wave cast her
back upon the beach and suddenly deprived her of sense and speech.
He stood across the seemingly lifeless body of that devoted girl, and
with a pistol in each hand cocked, and presented to the foremost men,
the officer and the gaoler, he exclaimed, "Let us go--we are not
defrauding the revenue--you have no business with us!"
"_You_ may go unhurt," replied the gaoler, "if you will deliver up the
body of Margaret Catchpole. I must and will have her in my custody."
"If you do, Mr. Ripshaw, it shall be at the peril of your life, or the
cost of mine. The first man who approaches to touch her shall be a
corpse, or he shall make me one."
There was such determination in his words and attitude, that every one
saw he would not flinch. It was a painful moment for young Barry; he
wished to save the life of Laud; he did not wish to risk that of any of
his men; he stepped forward, and said,--
"Will Laud, let me entreat you to give up the person of Margaret
Catchpole; she has escaped from the custody of the gaoler, and is under
sentence of transportation. I promise that you shall depart in safety,
and that she shall take no hurt. Do not force me to shed blood--we
_must_ take her!"
The next instant two pistols flashed, and Laud lay stretched upon the
sand. He had first fired at Barry and missed him, and the next moment,
in self-defence, Barry was compelled to fire in return. The ball, which
was intended only to have disabled his arm, passed through his heart and
killed him on the spot. So ended the career of a man who, only in the
few latter days of his life, seemed steadily resolved to act fairly by
the woman who had devoted her life to him, and to follow some honourable
occupation in a foreign land. Poor Susan's words at last proved true:
"Margaret you will never marry William Laud."
The bodies of Laud and Margaret were both carried by the sailors to the
preventive-service boat, and laid upon the men's cloaks at the bottom of
it. After a while, Margaret began to revive, and her awakening dream
was, that she was on board the smuggler's boat, which was coming to meet
them. But the men in that boat, observing the fearful odds against them,
had only rested on their oars to see the fatal result which took place,
and then turned back and steered for their own vessel.
Margaret looked wildly round her as the moonlight shone upon the
sailors. She whispered, "Laud! Laud!" She saw something lying in a line
with herself upon the same cloaks, but could not distinguish anything
but a sailor's dress: she heard a voice at the helm which was familiar
to her; she recognized it to be Barry's; she lifted her head, and saw
the banks of the river on both sides of the water. The truth seemed to
flash upon her, for she fell backwards again, fainted away, and became
insensible.
She and her lover were conveyed to the Ship Inn at Orford. The sailors
who carried her, sensible of the devoted heart of the poor girl, seemed
oppressed with heaviness, and could not refrain addressing one another,
in their own peculiar style, upon the bad job of that night. Margaret
became too soon and too fully acquainted with her situation. She shed
tears of the deepest agony; her mind was distracted, and without
consolation. She did not speak to any one; but between sobs, and groans,
and lamentations upon her loss, she seemed the most melancholy picture
of human woe. By what she had heard from some of the pitying sailors
around her, she understood that it was young Edward Barry who had shot
her lover. When he came into the room where she was seated in an
arm-chair, with her head resting in an agony upon her hand, he went up
to speak to her. She lifted up her hands, turned her head aside, and
exclaimed--
"Begone, wretch! Did you not voluntarily promise you would never hurt
him?"
"And so I would, Margaret, if he would have permitted me to do so. But
he would not. He first fired at me, and then I returned it; but only
with the intention of disarming him."
"You have done a noble deed, and one which will immortalize your name,
one which will form a source of happy reflection to you hereafter, most
noble man of war! You have killed a harmless man, and have taken captive
a poor fugitive female! Happy warrior! you will be nobly rewarded!"
"Do not reproach me, Margaret, but forgive me. I have only done my duty;
and, however painful it has been, you would not reproach me, if you did
but know how much I really grieved for you."
"Your grief for me will do me about as much good as mine will poor
William!" and here Margaret burst into a flood of tears, which words
could not in any way repress.
A post-chaise was ordered to the inn-door, and Margaret, apparently more
dead than alive, was placed within it, and the gaoler taking his seat
beside her, they were conveyed immediately to Ipswich.
She was once more confined within those walls which she had so recently
scaled; she made no secret of the manner in which she had effected her
escape; she fully confessed her own work, and perfectly exonerated every
other person in the gaol.
It was well for the poor turnkey that she was captured. He was
immediately released from confinement, and reinstated in his office.
Margaret was now kept in almost solitary confinement, to mourn over her
unhappy lot, and to reflect upon the death of one whom she had loved too
well.