REPENTANCE AND AMENDMENT
Before Margaret left Sydney the second time for Richmond Hill, she had
the inexpressible delight of receiving a ship-chest from England,
containing letters and presents from her beloved mistress and friends.
The good Mrs. Palmer was requested to be present at the opening of the
chest; and never, never did the eager school-boy unpack his parcel from
home with more intense delight than this poor young woman did the box
from England.
But her first interest was directed towards the packet of letters which
the box contained; and, until she had devoured the contents of _them_,
all else was a matter of comparative indifference to her. There were
letters from her uncle and aunt Leader, from Dr. Stebbing, from several
of her fellow-servants at the Cliff; but above all, in Margaret's
estimation, there were letters from her dear mistress--the excellent
lady of the Cliff--to whose kindness she owed and felt such lasting
gratitude.
The reader need not be troubled with a description of the numerous
articles of wearing apparel which the box contained; nor is it needful
to do more than mention that, besides the larger objects, there was an
inner case, containing combs, thimbles, needles, netting needles and
pins, knitting needles, pins, threads, papers of Dutch tape, of Indian
cotton, of coarse threads, pincushions, scissors, knives, and all sorts
of those stores which are so precious to a housewife, when at a distance
from the ordinary sources where they are to be procured.
Poor Margaret could neither eat nor drink till she had devoured the
contents of her letters. She wept so much during their perusal, that she
was forced to ask Mrs. Palmer to read them to her. This she did with
most sincere pleasure, for they afforded her own good heart instruction
as well as gratification. The letters written to Margaret were such as
would have gratified any intellectual and benevolent mind. They were
much admired by all who read them, but by none more than by the faithful
creature to whom they were directed.
The following letter was addressed by Margaret Catchpole to Mrs.
Cobbold, shortly after the receipt of the box of treasures just alluded
to:--
"October 18th, 1807.
"HONOURED MADAM,
"With the purest pleasure I again seize an opportunity to write to
you. I feel it my duty to do so, as you are my dearest friend upon
earth. Sincerely do I thank God for your health and happiness, and
for that of all your good family. I hope and trust in God that I
shall soon hear from you again, for it is my greatest comfort in
this distant land. Oh, my dear lady, how grieved I am to tell you
that there are so many depraved creatures in this country! I have
been robbed of all my collection of curiosities, which I had been
saving up, according to your wishes, and which I intended to have
sent you by the next ship. I am sure you would have thought them
valuable, as they were all so perfect, and the birds in such good
order, skinned, and dried, and perfumed. I will endeavour to
collect them again; but I am so sorry, when I had collected so
many, and had such great pleasure in them, that I should lose them
all through the artful conduct of wicked men!
"But I will soon be at work again for you. I have no greater joy
than to be waiting upon you; and everything I get, which I think
will be valuable to you, gives me increased satisfaction. You can
scarcely believe what happiness I experience in devoting any
portion of my time to your service. You are never out of my
thoughts, and always in my prayers. My ideas turn toward you from
every place, and in almost everything I see. When I think of the
troubles and trials you must have, with eighteen children around
you, I wonder you can at all think of me. But, dear lady, I do feel
such an interest about you and your family, that I am thankful
whenever you name any of them; and I was so delighted with your
description of them all! Always tell me about them. I sincerely
desire to know how Miss Anne is, and Miss Harriet, and Miss Sophia.
"Have you any knowledge, my dear lady, of Governor Bligh? Alas! I
have lost a good friend in Governor King. I do think that if a
petition were presented to him in my behalf, so well known as I am
to the late governor, something might be done for me. Every one
tells me that he says my conduct has been so uniformly consistent
and good that I deserve a reward. But it requires friends near the
fountain of mercy to make its stream flow towards such as I. I
should be almost ready to die with joy if a pardon were to come to
me, with permission to return to England. I would then gladly come,
and live and die in your service.
"Since I last wrote to you, I have been living again with Mrs.
Palmer. I sent you, by the ship _Buffalo_, a small case, containing
the skins of the rarest birds found in this country, together with
an opossum, of a dark colour, and very fierce; also a species of
rat, which very much resembles a diminutive hyena. You will find
two large, magnificent birds, called here the mountain pheasant;
they are only like our English bird in size. The plume of feathers
in the tail of the cock bird would form the most graceful ornament
for a queen's head-dress. Two noble feathers, somewhat like a
peacock's, only more brilliant and various in their colours,
surrounded by the most glittering silver lines of curving feathers,
fine as the prairie grass, and sparkling like the waves of the
ocean, ornament the tail of the male bird, whilst the female is
only remarkable for the elegance of her shape, and not for the
beauty of her plumage.
"In my opinion, this bird is the peafowl of this country, and not a
pheasant. Early in the morning, I have seen him spring from the
thickest brushwood, and wing his arrow-like flight to the tallest
tree, and there he appears to mimic the notes of the various
songsters around him. But the most beautiful attitude that I once
saw him in beats everything I ever beheld of what men term
politeness. I have heard and have read of delicate attentions paid
to our sex by men of noble and generous dispositions; but I
scarcely ever heard of such devoted attention as I one day
witnessed in this noble bird towards his mate. I saw her sitting in
the heat of the meridian sun upon her nest, and the cock bird
seated near her, with his tail expanded, like a bower overshadowing
her; and, as the sun moved, so did he turn his elegant parasol to
guard her from his rays. Now and then he turned his bright eye to
see if she was comfortable, and she answered his inquiry with a
gentle note and rustle of her feathers.
"Was not this a sight calculated to teach us all gentleness? Dear
lady, as I looked upon it, the tears came warmly down my cheeks, as
I thought of your good husband and yourself; and I dreamed of your
writing a poem upon this subject, and reading it to the young
ladies in the school-room. I had often wondered what use the tail
of this bird could be to him. If this be one of its general uses,
surely it is truly ornamental and useful. I hope these birds will
come safe to hand. Captain Brooks of the _Buffalo_, promised me
faithfully that he would himself forward them into Suffolk. The
thought that they may reach you and give you pleasure will make me
happy for many a long day. Owing to the late floods, every thing is
become very dear: pork, 2_s._; beef and mutton, 2_s._ 3_d._; soft
sugar, 6_s._ and 8_s._; tea, L1 10_s._ per pound; a bushel of
wheat, L1 5_s._; printed cotton, 10_s._ to 12_s._ per yard; shoes,
for females, 13_s._ per pair. Scarcely any linen cloth to be had.
Newspapers, of any date, 1_s._ a-piece.
"But your chest, just now arrived, contains so many things of
value, that my good Mrs. Palmer has at once proposed that I should
at once open a little shop at Richmond Hill. I wrote word, in my
uncle's letter, or in my last to you, about my offer of marriage,
but the gentleman is since dead, and has left his property to the
management of Mrs. Palmer. She says I shall have a cottage of my
own, with land attached to it, and begin business for myself. You
know not, dear lady, how valuable all those things are which you
have sent to me. But your letters, and those of Mrs. Sleorgin--oh,
what a comfort they have been to me!
"I had been very ill before their arrival. About eight months ago,
I took a long journey, for Mrs. Palmer, to arrange something about
Mr. Poinder's children. I walked a distance of thirty miles, and
over-exerted and heated myself very much, so that my body threw out
large blisters, just as if I had been burnt with small coals, and I
was so swelled out that I thought I should have lost my life. I was
under the care of a Mr. Mason, a very clever surgeon; and Mrs.
Palmer was very kind and attentive to me. Blessing be to God! I
recovered; but I am still very subject to cold and inflammation. I
am not permitted to go near the fire.
"I am to go to Richmond Hill as soon as I can, which will be very
soon. I will write to you again when I am settled there. Only let
me thank you, as I ought, for your great goodness to one so
unworthy of it. If I should prosper, so as to get enough to keep
myself from starving in my old days, how shall I bless God for
raising me up such a friend as you have been to me!
"Mrs. Palmer says she is very sorry to part with me, but she wishes
to serve me. She is so good to me! She was so pleased to find I was
so respected by such friends as the ladies who wrote to me. She
said she never read such beautiful letters as yours and good Mrs.
Sleorgin's, and asked me to let her take a copy of them. She had a
great desire to publish them in the Sydney paper, as she thought
they would do so much good to others as well as to myself. She
blessed your spirit, and desired me to say, that she considered me
worthy of all the favour which your generous hand had bestowed upon
me. This was her saying; but it is not my opinion, though I may say
I wish I was worthy. She desired me to say, that if you should see
Sir William Blizzard, a physician in London, he would tell you all
about her. She has promised to do all she can to obtain my
restoration to society. If I could once return to my own native
land, what a happy woman I should be! You add much to my comfort
here; for whenever I have a few moments' spare time, I am sure to
be seeking for seeds, shells, insects, or curiosities of any kind;
and the thought of whom I am serving makes me feel very happy.
Thank God! I keep myself free from all men. I have formed no
acquaintance with any man; and I may sincerely confess to you, my
dear lady, that my early attachment and deep-felt disappointment
have deadened the feelings of my heart to any further matrimonial
speculations. I do not think that any man in the colony could
persuade me to marry. My dear Mrs. Palmer has often spoken to me on
the subject, and I have never concealed the fact, that to my first
attachment I owe my present abode in this colony as a convict. I am
wise enough now to see my own follies, and I pray to God for His
forgiveness. In this colony there are few that remain single from
choice, old or young. Girls of fifteen years become mothers before
they are able to take care of themselves; and I may state it as a
curious fact, that very many whom you would suppose too old to be
mothers, have young families increasing around them.
"Vegetation in this clime is very abundant; but there are some
fearful drawbacks to our reaping its fruits. We may have a good
crop of grain on the ground to-day, and to-morrow it may be all cut
down by a hail-storm, or destroyed by a blight, or swept away by a
flood. On Monday last, the 16th of this month, a hail-storm passed
over this place, and cut down the wheat just as it was in full
blossom. The stones which fell from the clouds were as big as
pigeons' eggs, and you may imagine the mischief which ensued. Great
numbers of fowls and small cattle were killed. The harvest will be
about six weeks hence, and will be a lamentably deficient crop. Now
begins our hot season. We dread the attacks of ophthalmia, as the
surgeons call it; we call it commonly the blight in our eyes. We
can find no remedy for it but patience. In one day our eyelids are
so swelled that we cannot see. With some it lasts a week, with
others a month, according to the state of the constitution of the
sufferer. It is a very irritating and painful disease, and none are
such dreadful sufferers as those who most deserve it, the habitual
drunkards, of which class I regret to state there are too many in
this country.
"The natives are much more tractable than they used to be, and not
so savage and uncivilized. They will work but little; I can get
from them, however, the most rare skins of wild animals, such as
the settlers have not patience to pursue. They boast that the white
man is made for drudgery, and the black for liberty. He can roam
through his native woods and subsist without labour, whilst he
supposes that we enjoy no freedom. They have not left off their
barbarous habit of fighting and killing each other for a public
exhibition. I remember that you used to make the young ladies read
of the tournaments in the reign of Elizabeth, and how the knights
sometimes killed each other in this way. Surely those ancestors of
the English had some such spirit as these free blacks of Australia
in this day. These people form a stately circle, and contend most
skilfully and magnanimously, by fixed and settled rules of combat;
and I assure you, dear lady, that their deportment, at such times,
would be no discredit to the most gallant knights of Europe.
Gallantry towards their females, however, is at a very low ebb;
yet, for the honour of the sex, they take no delight in these
pageants of blood and murder. In this respect, degraded as they are
in other things, they are not so bad as some were in the ages of
chivalry.
"It will not much interest you to know of our farming here, but
some of your friends may like to hear a word about it, though from
such an ignorant being as myself. The price of farming stock is
very high: a sow sells for L10; a ewe for L7; a milch-goat, L3
10_s._; a cow from L60 to L70; a good horse from L100 to L150. But
things will not continue in this state many years, for this is a
most prolific land. You will be more glad to hear of our great
variety of botanical plants. My good lady, Mrs. Palmer, has
promised that her friend, Mr. Mason, who is a good botanist, shall
affix the proper names to each of the specimens which I send.
"Honoured madam, give my duty to Mrs. Sleorgin, and say how happy I
am to hear from her, and am glad that she approves of my conduct
and pursuits. I love her good advice, and endeavour to keep it. I
am so sorry that I was robbed of all my first treasures for you. My
tears, however, would not bring them back again. I will try again.
Give my duty to dear Doctor Stebbing. Oh that I could see him with
his dog and gun, upon some of our plains, or beating in the bush of
this country! I would get him to kill me many a beautiful bird to
enrich your collection. Give my duty to his daughter. Is poor old
Robinson Crusoe alive? and is Jack Whatcheer? Alas! their memory
brings back painful recollections. So, my dear lady, hoping to hear
from you again, accept the love and duty of your humble and
constant servant,
"MARGARET CATCHPOLE.
"To J. COBBOLD, ESQ., Cliff, Ipswich."
From this letter it appears that Margaret was then upon the eve of
leaving Sydney for her cottage at Richmond Hill, some forty or fifty
miles up the country. There were a small village and store-rooms on the
banks of the river, and Margaret rented a small house and about twenty
acres of land of her friend Mrs. Palmer, at a very moderate price. Part
of her house was formed into a shop, in which all her little stock in
trade was placed and her little capital invested. The goods which were
sent her from England formed a valuable assortment; and she began by
offering for sale small portions of her general stock, so that her
customers might have the same articles upon another application. Her
house was situated in a very beautiful spot, commanding an extensive
view over a well-watered plain, with the ever-blue mountains in the
distance.
Margaret remained at Richmond Hill, as her own independent mistress, for
five years. About two years after her residence at this place she wrote
again to her mistress, and sent a small drawing of her cottage, which
was taken by one of Mrs. Palmer's friends for this very purpose.
The mountain pheasants, which she speaks of in the following letter,
duly arrived by the _Buffalo_. They were splendid specimens, and were in
a very perfect state. They were preserved in the author's family for
many years, and may now be seen at the public museum at Ipswich, in
company with many thousands of valuable specimens. The bird itself is
now become very scarce. A live specimen has never been brought to
England.[11]
"RICHMOND HILL, Oct. 8th, 1809.
"HONOURED MADAM,
"I take up my pen again with new and increased delight, to say that
I duly received another box from you, which arrived at Sydney with
everything in it, according to the inventory, quite safe. A
thousand thanks for it, my dear lady, and all its valuable
contents. It was three years last June since I sent you, according
to your request, a number of our native productions. I had a cedar
case made on purpose, strong and stoutly ironed. I was told that it
would preserve the goods in a more perfect state than an oaken one;
but as you say nothing about its arrival in your letter, I fear that
it is lost.
"I sent it on board the _Buffalo_, the ship in which Governor King
left the colony. It may, perhaps, yet reach you. I hope it will.
There were many of our Sydney newspapers in it, and a host of
birds' skins, weapons and knives, and curiosities, which I obtained
from the natives near the Blue Mountains. I can see a great part of
the chain from my chamber-window. Mrs. Palmer undertook to see the
case forwarded to you.
"This is the second great collection I have made for you; and I
shall not, dear lady, forward any more until I hear of the safe
arrival of the last, it is so very disheartening to find all my
labour and love thrown away. Oh! how I wish that I could be
permitted to bring a cargo home for you! I would part with
everything I have most gladly for such a purpose, but I fear it
will never be; and sometimes my poor heart feels broken, as I sit
alone, pondering over all my hope and fears.
"My dear landlady, Mrs. Palmer, has given me such a nice drawing of
my cottage and the surrounding country for you! I shall send it;
and I hope you will not think me presumptuous if I ask for one of
the dear, dear Cliff, as I know, my dear lady, that you can so
easily do one for me. If one of the young ladies would be so kind
as to copy it, then I could give Mrs. Palmer one by way of return.
Yours shall hang over my chimney-place; and when I look at it I
shall think of those happy days which I spent there with you for my
friend and mistress.
"Ah! dear lady, when I was learning so many good lessons under your
eye, little did I think that I should reap the profit thereof in a
foreign land. Your word of approbation was a sort of foretaste of
that which, I hope and trust, we shall both rejoice to hear, 'Well
done, good and faithful servant!'
"Dear lady, I am very contented, and am getting on well, but we
have all had severe misfortune in this district: first, by the
floods; secondly, by fire; and thirdly, by such a hurricane as
levelled whole acres of timber-trees of enormous size. We were
afraid to remain indoors lest our houses should fall on our heads;
and out of doors we could hardly stand at all. Great trees swept by
us as if they had been straws.
"The flood in the month of May distressed us very much; but that on
the 31st of July and the 1st of August, the days after the high
wind, was dreadful. It was the greatest ever experienced by any of
the settlers, though the natives speak of one which covered all the
plain from the mountains, and was deeper than our church is high.
The one I have so lately witnessed went over the tops of the houses
on the plain; and many poor creatures were on their chimneys crying
out for mercy, and for boats to go to them. It was shocking to hear
their cries, and it made me feel so wretched at not being able to
relieve them. It was very dangerous to approach them, for sometimes
the eddies were so strong round their houses that boats were swept
away, or swamped in the attempt. I saw one boat completely sunk by
a tree falling upon it, just as it was passing; and had not another
boat been near to take the sufferers off the boughs upon which they
had climbed, they must all have perished.
"One man, of the name of Thomas Lacey, and his wife and family,
were carried away in a barn. They got upon the mow, and broke a
hole through the thatch. I saw them, dear creatures, holding up
their hands to heaven as they passed us on the sweeping flood, and
imploring our help. It made my spirit rise within me; and I thought
how God had made me instrumental in saving life in former days, and
I could not resist the impulse of that which at first the people
called my madness. I called to some men who were standing near a
boat moored to the bank, and urged them to go with me to the
rescue, but they would none of them stir. I took two long
linen-lines, and tied them together, and requested the people on
the bank to assist me, for I was determined to go alone if they
would not go with me.
"I jumped into the boat, and then the men were ashamed, and took
their oars, and said they would go without me; but no, that I was
determined they should not do; so the man slackened the rope, as we
were carried by the stream towards the barn, which had fortunately
grounded upon the stump of some large tree which had collected a
quantity of earth so as to form a bank near it. We had hard work to
get up towards the smooth-water side of the barn; but the men kept
the boat close to the side by pushing against the trunk of the
tree; and I stood up at the head of the boat, and received the dear
children into my arms. They were all taken from the thatch, and we
launched again into the eddies.
"Had it not been for the line, we should have been sent down the
stream like an arrow from a bow. All our fear was lest the line
should break, and if it had we could never have rowed up the
stream. Thanks be to the providential mercy of God, we were all
hauled safe to land.
"Oh! how the dear children did cling to me! They told me that they
saw great alligators come up and look at them; but, poor things!
their terrible situation would make them magnify a floating tree
into an alligator. Horses, cows, sheep, and all kinds of animals,
were hurried along the waters to the sea. I wonder whence all this
body of fresh water can come from! We had no previous rains, and
yet thousands and thousands of acres were covered ten, fifteen, and
twenty feet deep with these floods.
"I brought Mr. Lacey's family to my own house. You know, my dear
lady, how fond I am of children. I take care of them, and they
assist me, until their father shall have got another habitation to
take them to. Some poor creatures expired just as help reached
them. They got on to houses, barns, stacks, and trees, and were
often swept off all these resting-places. Many persons were
drowned; many lost all their property. We were all fearful at one
time that we should be swallowed up. Part of the hill on which my
cottage stands began to cave away, and has left a cliff several
feet high for a long distance. I was very near losing my own life;
for I was standing on the verge of the hill when a part of my own
field close by my feet caved in, and was swept away by the flood.
It seemed to melt away like sugar in a cup; but, God be praised! I
just escaped falling with it. You may believe that it terrified me.
"I have about twenty acres of land from my dear friend, Mrs.
Palmer, who sends me one man to help me in the cultivation of it.
Some have lost all: my loss is estimated at about fifty pounds.
Everything is now so dear in the colony that my little stock in my
shop is as much as doubled in its value; so that my loss in one way
will be made up in another.
"We are almost afraid of starvation on account of the many thousand
bushels of Indian corn carried away by the flood. This corn, mixed
with a little wheat, makes most excellent bread. You may imagine,
dear lady, how we suffer, when I state that most of the wheat then
in the ground was completely rooted up and carried away like
sea-weed. All manner of grain has become very dear. Government has
issued a certain quantity for each sufferer for seed-corn.
"Clothing of all kinds is very scarce; but whilst I am writing,
news has just arrived that a ship has providentially come into port
laden with a vast supply, so that it will soon be the cheapest
thing we can get. I should have done great things this year but for
the flood; but I have every reason to be thankful for that which is
left for me.
"My prayers, dear lady, are always for your happiness, and for the
good of all your dear family. Pray God that I may have the comfort
to hear from you again! It is the comfort of heaven to me to hear
that you and yours are well. Give my dutiful thanks to that dear
lady, Mrs. Sleorgin, for the handsome present of books which she
has sent me, and for the letter of good advice which accompanied
it. Assure her, dear madam, that I endeavour to follow her advice
every day. How thankful ought I to be to God that I have such dear
friends who care for me!
"My health at times is not good, and I am still very thin. Tell Dr.
Stebbing that I walk every day farther than the space between his
house and Nacton Street. God bless him! I have got several packages
of curiosities for him. The greatest pleasure I have in this
country is the hope of hearing from you, dear lady. I shall feed
upon this hope for the next twelve months; and I assure you, when
your letters do arrive, I am just as delighted as a child would be
to hear from an affectionate parent.
"Give my love and duty to my master, and all the young people who
may chance to know my name, and ever believe me to be
"Your affectionate servant,
"MARGARET CATCHPOLE.
"JOHN COBBOLD, ESQ., Cliff, Ipswich."
The last letter received from Margaret _Catchpole_ is also dated from
Richmond Hill. It breathes the same affectionate attachment and anxiety,
and is given here as worthy of the same attention as the former ones:--
"RICHMOND HILL, Sept. 1st, 1811.
"HONOURED MADAM,
"On the 8th of August of this year, 1811, I received my cedar case
that Captain Prichard should have brought. It is almost two years
ago since he landed the troops at Sydney. Mrs. Palmer, my
ever-constant friend, took charge of it for me, until I was enabled
to go down myself. When I received tidings of its arrival, I set
off from my cottage, and walked the whole way, leaving the eldest
child I took from the flood to take care of my house. It is full
fifty miles from Richmond Hill to Sydney. Mrs. Palmer could not
think where the case could have been all that time. But your
letter, my dear madam, has set all our minds easy upon the subject.
"At first I thought it was the case, and all the things I sent you,
come back again. But bless you, dear lady, for thinking of me! I
was greatly rejoiced when I found that you had received the birds
quite safe, and that they gave you such pleasure. Everything that
you have sent me is quite safe, and so delightfully packed, that I
could see your own dear handiwork in the whole process. All are, I
assure you, very acceptable to me; and many thousand thanks do I
give for them. I never can feel sufficiently thankful to heaven and
you.
"How deeply do I feel the loss of dear Mrs. Sleorgin! With God's
help, I will endeavour to follow her good advice to the day of my
own departure, and then I shall meet her again. My loss is, I am
persuaded, her own gain. Her blessings have come here, and will be
fruitful to her own good soul in a happier world. I am very fond of
reading those good books which she has sent me, and I shall always
be reminded of the benevolent donor.
"Dear lady, I am grieved to hear of the death of poor Miss Anne
that was. She was always the most meek-spirited of all the young
ladies. Master Rowland was always my favourite. He was born in
those happy days when I lived with you; and he, too, is gone. Your
letter conveys very anxious tidings; and though joyful to me to see
your dear handwriting, yet I grieve to find that you have been so
ill. Oh! if there was anything in this country that would do you
good, however difficult it might be to be obtained, I would not
cease using all my efforts until I had got it for you. If I can
find anything at any time which may be new to you, and please your
dear, good mind, anything you have not heard of before, what
pleasure it will be to me!
"Oh! never can I be dutiful or grateful enough to you for your
goodness to me. God preserve you long to be a blessing to your dear
family and friends!
"I am ashamed, my dear madam, to send this hasty scribble into your
hands, but the ship is about to sail directly, and I am hard
pressed for time. I am pleased to think that you got my long list
of dried plants and birds. I am sorry the insects were not better
fastened in the case; I will attend particularly to your
instructions about them for the future. I am living alone, as I was
when I last wrote you, and am getting on well, in a very honest and
independent way of life. People wonder why I do not marry. I cannot
forget my late trials, troubles, and horrors, and I dread forming
any acquaintance with any man. I was happy before such notions
entered my mind, and I have been comparatively happy since I have
had no more notions of the same sort. So I am single and free.
"The cap you have sent me, which you say is a great favourite of
yours, I put on last evening, and drank my tea in it, with some
tears of reflection. My heart was so full, to think that the work
of your own hands, and that which had graced your own head, should
cover such an unworthy one as mine, it made me feel humble and
sorrowful, as well as joyful and thankful. I must hastily conclude
this letter, as the messenger calls for any ship letters for
Sydney. May the blessings and thanks of your grateful servant reach
your dear heart, from the soul of
"Your ever devoted servant,
"MARGARET CATCHPOLE.
"J. COBBOLD, ESQ., Cliff, Ipswich."
It is now time that our attention should be recalled to one whose
conduct has, we trust, already gained him a place in the reader's
esteem, and who after all must be looked upon as the true hero of our
simple story. John Barry (now most worthy to have that old English title
of Esquire attached to his name, as being the highest which was
acknowledged in the settlement, under the governor) had, as the reader
will remember, arrived at New South Wales, and settled at Liberty
Plains. He was among the earliest free settlers in the land, and was a
man of such firmness and steadiness of character, of such integrity and
perseverance, that he succeeded far beyond his own most sanguine
expectations, and established for himself such a character for probity,
sagacity, and general worth, that he was consulted upon all the most
interesting concerns of the colony. He it was who suggested to Governor
King the first idea of establishing the "Female Orphan Asylum," and
proposed attaching one hundred acres of land as a marriage portion for
the children. He it was who laid the second stone of St. John's Church,
Paramatta. He built the first free-trader that was ever launched from
Port Jackson. That he prospered it is needless to declare, because
industry and integrity, with activity of mind, intelligence, and
sincerity, must prosper in any place. He was a merchant as well as a
great corn grower: he was also, as we have before stated, the government
contractor for land. He never caballed with any one party against
another, for the sake of increasing the price of land, but honestly, in
a straight-forward way, stated the price per acre, the quantities that
parties might have, and the money expected in a given time. He had sold
for the government many thousand acres of the finest tract of land,
which bordered upon the river Hawkesbury, and retained a portion for
himself at Windsor, by the Green Hills, for which he strictly paid the
highest price that was then given for land in that district.
His residence, called Windsor Lodge, was situated on a very commanding
spot upon the south bank of the river. At a short distance from the
water he had built very large granaries, capable of holding an immense
quantity of grain, and this spot became the great corn-mart of the
country; the grain was thence transported to the coast, and supplied
every port connected with the colony. The Hawkesbury is a noble river,
particularly opposite to Windsor Lodge, the house, or rather mansion, of
the owner of the Green Hills around. If real worth and talent, if
public and private benevolence, with the most expansive views of men and
things, together with acts of such virtue and dignity as speak the
spirit of true nobility, could be found in any one, they existed in the
mind and heart of that youth, who left the shores of old England a
simple, single-minded Suffolk farmer's son, to become a man of wealth
and goodness in a distant land.
It is true that no chivalric deed of arms signalized his career: he was
an enterprising, but a peaceful man; he could boast no long line of
ancestry higher or more exalted than himself. His parents were good,
honest, and virtuous people, and their son bore the same character, but
with the possession of superior information; and may we not, in some
measure, trace the origin of all this man's virtues and good qualities
to that passion which still, as it was in the olden times, is the parent
and prompter of all that is great and noble, all that is gentle; all, in
short, that distinguishes man from the brutes that perish? Love dwelt, a
pure and holy flame, in the breast of this young man; and change of
scene, change of condition, increase of knowledge, of wealth, and of
circumstances--in short, circumstances which would have changed almost
any other being--changed not him.
It may seem strange to many that Mr. Barry should have been so long a
leading man in the colony, and in constant communication with England,
and never have heard of the fate of Margaret Catchpole. But when they
understand that all notice of her career had been studiously excluded
from the correspondence of his friends in England; and, moreover, that
convicts of all classes, when they came to Botany Bay, were sent to the
northward to be employed on the government stores, and that the
Hawkesbury was devoted principally to free labourers and settlers, and
that the line of demarcation between convict and free settler was
extremely strict, their surprise will in a great degree cease.
Beloved and respected by all, as John Barry was, the wonder with all
was that he never married. With every comfort around him, with health
and cheerfulness, a goodly person, great repute, and wealth scarcely
equalled by any one in the colony, he still remained a lone man; and but
that he evinced a kind, benevolent, and friendly disposition towards all
their sex, the females would have set him down as a cold ascetic. He was
far from being this kind of person. Love was the ruling principle of his
life; and though he had himself suffered so much from disappointment
that he never had the slightest inclination to address his affection to
another, yet he encouraged social and domestic virtues in others, and
advised many not to follow his bachelor example. His own sisters he had
portioned off handsomely; and one of his greatest relaxations was to
visit their abodes and to delight in their happiness and prosperity.
In the year 1811, Mr. John Barry was visited with a deep affliction, in
the loss of one of his sisters, who died of fever, leaving a husband and
a young family of seven children. But how surely does good spring out of
seeming evil! Fraught as this event was with the most poignant grief to
John Barry, it was, nevertheless, the ultimate cause of the consummation
of all his hopes, and the completion of that happiness which he had so
richly earned. Deeply desiring the welfare of his sister's children, and
seeing the forlorn condition to which they were reduced by the death of
their excellent mother, he at once acted with an energy and discretion
which the afflicted husband could not command. He sought to obtain as
speedily as possible some respectable person to take charge of the
family, and he remembered that Mrs. Palmer had mentioned to him a
valuable person, whom she had sent to Richmond Hill, to take charge of
some motherless children related to herself. He therefore went down to
Sydney immediately, and obtained an interview with that lady at the
Orphan Asylum.
"I think, my dear madam, you mentioned to me, two or three years ago,
that you lost a relative who left a young family, and that you sent a
confidential female to superintend and take care of the children?"
"I did, sir, and a most valuable treasure she has always been to me. She
lived with the husband of my relative for two years as housekeeper and
general superintendent of his establishment. He is, however, since
dead."
"And she----"
"Is still living at Richmond Hill, but perfectly independent. It was a
curious and unprecedented fact in this country, for a young woman in her
situation to refuse the hand of the very man whose family she managed;
but she did so, and to her honour and credit; for the love she bore me
she left his service and returned to live with me. I was, as you may
conceive, greatly pleased with her, and took her still more closely into
my confidence. Two years after this the husband of my late relative
died, leaving his whole property at Richmond Hill to me, for the benefit
of his children, and in case of their death, to me and my heirs for
ever. The poor children, always sickly, died in this house, and the
property is now let to a most respectable tenant. I reserved twenty
acres and a cottage for this young woman, who had acted so generously;
and I do not scruple to tell you, that though she pays a nominal rent to
me for the cottage and land, yet I have always put that rent into the
bank in her name, with the full intention of leaving her the property I
mention."
"I am very much obliged to you for the information which you give me.
You have heard that I have lost my youngest sister Maria. She leaves a
disconsolate husband with seven young children, the eldest only eight
years of age. My object in asking about this person was to secure her as
guardian of these dear children; and the manner in which you have spoken
of her convinces me that she would be eligible and valuable, if she were
but at liberty to come. Do you think you could persuade her to undertake
the duty? I would send a man to farm her land for her, and devote the
whole rent to her remuneration."
"I am afraid she would not leave her present home and occupation. She
keeps a small store and lives entirely by herself, except that a little
girl, whose life she saved from the great flood, assists her. You would
have been very much pleased with her had you witnessed her brave conduct
in risking her own life in the attempt to save a Mr. Lacey and his
family, who on that day were carried away in their barn. She put to
shame the spirits of several men who stood looking on the waters, and
refused to go to the assistance of those poor creatures. She would
positively have gone alone, and entered the boat with the full
determination to do so, if they refused to accompany her. They were at
length fairly shamed into going along with her to the spot where the
barn had grounded, and thus actually rescued the whole family from their
perilous situation. I wonder you did not see the account of it in the
_Sydney Gazette_."
"You interest me very much in this person," said Mr. Barry; "she must be
a very extraordinary woman."
"She is, indeed. But this is not the most extraordinary feat of her
life. She is a convict, and was transported to this country for stealing
a horse, and riding it a distance of seventy miles in one night."
"But how came you to know her?"
"She was recommended to me by Captain Sumpter, who conveyed her in his
ship to this country, and gave her an excellent character. She was so
highly mentioned in his letters, that I took her into the establishment
at the Female Orphan Asylum, and found her all that I could desire, and
much more than I could have had any reason to expect."
"Do you know what her character was in England?"
"Her whole history has been laid before me. And this I can
conscientiously declare, that she was guilty of but one great error,
which betrayed her into the commission of an offence for which she was
sent to this country. Her besetting sin was misplaced affection, an
unaccountable attachment to an unworthy man. She stole a horse from her
master to meet this lover in London, and was sentenced to death for so
doing. She was reprieved, owing to her previous good character, and
would never have been sent to this country, had she not been persuaded
by the same man to break out of prison. She effected her escape from
gaol, and would have got clear out of the country, but for the activity
of a young man (by-the-by, a namesake of yours) in the coastguard, who
shot her lover in a skirmish on the sea-shore; and then she was retaken,
tried a second time, and a second time condemned to death; but her
sentence was commuted to transportation for life."
On looking on the countenance of Mr. Barry at this moment, Mrs. Palmer
was surprised to see it deadly pale.
"You are ill, sir," she exclaimed; "pray let me send for assistance."
"No, no, I thank you; I shall be better presently. A little faintness
came over me, doubtless from the interest I feel in the history you have
related to me."
With great effort Mr. Barry commanded himself, as he said in a trembling
voice, "And the name of this singular person is----"
"Margaret Catchpole," replied Mrs. Palmer, as he seemed to pause.
Overpowered by emotion of the most conflicting kind, Mr. Barry was
completely unmanned. Accustomed for so long a time to smother his
affections, he now found his heart bursting with the fullness of agony
at finding the being so highly recommended to him, and one whom he had
never ceased to love--_a convict_.
"Oh, my respected friend!" he exclaimed, "I loved that woman long before
I came to this country. I love her still--I confess I love her now; I
cannot, I do not, from all I know of her, and from all you tell me,
believe her to be an abandoned character;--but she is a convict."
"Alas! she is," replied Mrs. Palmer. "You astonish, you amaze me, Mr.
Barry. Does she know your situation in this country?"
"I should think not, for I have had no information of hers up to this
time. You must know that I would have brought her out to this country as
my wife, but she was then attached to another. That other, I fear, was
shot by my brother. He was a smuggler, and my brother was in the
preventive service. She may not retain any feeling towards me but
respect."
"I have never heard her mention your name, nor had I the slightest hint
of these circumstances. I do not think she dreams of your existence.
This is a large country, Mr. Barry, and if your name and fame in it have
ever reached her ear, depend upon it she does not think that you are the
person who once addressed her. But if she should hear it, I can tell you
that she is so truly humble a creature, that she would think it
presumption even to fancy that you could still love her. She is the
meekest and most affectionate creature I ever knew."
"I can believe it, if she is anything like what I remember of her; she
is warm-hearted, honest, open, and sincere, but uneducated."
"She is all the first-mentioned, but far, very far from being the last.
In some things she is as well informed as ourselves, and in the best of
all books she is really well read. She daily reads and understands her
Bible. Her mistress, copies of whose letters I can show you, instructed
her with her own children; and I can assure you, that in nothing but the
want of station is she inferior to the best of her sex."
After the first struggles of his emotion were over, Mr. Barry made a
complete confidante of Mrs. Palmer, and at once revealed to her the
state of his own feelings respecting Margaret; and she fully explained
to him what had been the excellent conduct of the object of his
affection since her residence in that country. After hearing her
statement, and appearing to consider within himself for a brief space,
he said--
"I think I have sufficient interest with the governor to obtain her free
pardon. If you can furnish me with the numbers of the _Sydney Gazette_
in which she is mentioned, I will urge upon that humane man the policy
of rewarding such an example as that which she set in rescuing the lives
of Mr. Lacey and his family from the flood. I will take your
recommendation, also, to the governor, and see what may be done. In the
meantime, I beg you to take the earliest opportunity of mentioning my
name to her in any manner you may think best. My mind is made up. If I
procure her pardon, and she will listen to me favourably, I will marry
her. You may tell her so, if you find her favourably disposed towards
me."
That very day the good Mrs. Palmer wrote the following note to Margaret
Catchpole:--
"SYDNEY, Sept. 21, 1811.
"MY GOOD MARGARET,
"I desire to see you at Sydney, and have sent a conveyance for you
that you may not be oppressed with the journey. I have something
particular to communicate, but shall not tell you by letter what it
is, that you may not be over-anxious. I shall simply call it a
matter of most momentous business, which concerns both you and me,
and also a third person. Your attendance here will greatly
facilitate the settlement of the affair. And in the meantime,
believe me,
"Your sincere friend,
"ELIZA PALMER.
"To MARGARET CATCHPOLE, Richmond Hill."
It was indeed a great piece of news which this kind-hearted woman had to
communicate to her husband. Still he was not so surprised as she
expected him to have been.
"I have always thought, from his manner, that Mr. Barry had some strong
and secret attachment in England. I fancied that he was in love with
some damsel of high birth in his native country; and truly do I think
him worthy of any lady's hand. I little dreamed, however, of his real
position. He is a good man, and will make a most excellent member of our
highest society, and will exalt any woman he may take to be wife. But
how do you think Margaret is affected towards him?"
"It is that very thing I wish to know. I cannot really tell. She has
been as great an exclusive in her way as he has been in his; and I
confess that my present opinion is, that she will never marry."
"She would really be to blame if she did not. I think this match would
tend to soothe that growing distance and disrespect which exists between
the emancipated and the free settlers. At all events, it is highly
honourable and noble in our excellent friend."
"I think she would be wrong to refuse such an offer. But she has shown
herself so independent, that unless a real affection should exist, I
feel persuaded that she will live at Richmond Hill in preference to
Windsor Lodge. I expect her here to-morrow, as I have sent the chaise
for her."
Mr. Barry repaired to the governor's house and had a long interview with
him. He had some general business to speak of and several public matters
to arrange; but he made haste to come to the case of a female convict,
Margaret Catchpole, which he laid before the governor with such zeal,
that the latter could not help observing the deep interest he took in
her behalf.
"Has your honour seen the nature of the offence for which she was
transported, or ever heard of the motive which prompted it? I have
brought testimony sufficient to corroborate my account of her. I have
the letters of recommendation for good conduct during her voyage to this
country. I have the highest character to give of her all the time she
has been with Mrs. Palmer, and a particular instance of personal courage
and self-devotion, in saving the lives of a whole family in the late
dreadful flood. Her present situation is so highly respectable, and
exhibits such an instance of moral and religious influence triumphant
over the dangers of a degraded position, that, when I heard of it, I
could not fail to lay it before your honour."
"And a most admirable advocate would you have made at the bar, Mr.
Barry. You have pleaded this young woman's case with such fervour, that
positively, but for your well-known character in the colony, I should
suspect you had some private interest in obtaining her pardon. I do
think, however, that the case is a very proper one for merciful
consideration, and highly deserving of the exercise of that prerogative
which the government at home has attached to my power; and I shall
certainly grant a free pardon. But, without any intention of being too
inquisitive, may I candidly tell you, that from the animated manner in
which you have spoken of the virtues of this said female, I am induced
to ask, why you have taken such a peculiarly personal interest in her
favour?"
"I will honestly confess at once that I ask it upon the most
self-interested grounds possible: I intend to offer her my hand."
The governor looked all astonishment. "What? Do I really hear it, or is
it a dream? You, Mr. Barry, the highest, and wealthiest, and most
prudent bachelor in the settlement, one who might return to England and
be one of her wealthiest esquires; and here, enjoying more reputation,
with less responsibility, than the governor--you about to form a
matrimonial alliance with----"
The governor paused; he found his own eloquence carrying him too far; he
considered the character of the man before him, knew the excellence of
his principles and his heart, and dreaded to wound his generous soul; he
changed his tone, but not the earnestness of his appeal.
"Have you well weighed this matter, Mr. Barry? Have you consulted with
your friends around you? You are not the man to be caught by outward
appearances, nor to be smitten by passing beauty without some qualities
of domestic happiness, arising from temper, mind, character, and
disposition. How long has this attachment been in existence?"
"From my youth, your honour: I have not yet seen her since that happy
time when she was a free woman in my native land, enjoying that honest
liberty which is the pride and glory of England's virtuous daughters of
every station in the land. I was then in her own condition of life. We
had both to earn our bread by the labour of our hands; we both respected
each other: would I could say that we had both loved each other! I
should not like to see her again until I can look upon her as a free
woman, and it is in your power to make her that happy being, upon whom I
may look, as I once did, with the warmest affection."
"I ask no more, Mr. Barry, I ask no more. You have been an enigma to
many of us; it is now solved. It gives me real pleasure to oblige you,
and in such a case as this the best feelings of my heart are abounding
for your happiness. Her freedom is granted. To whom shall I commit the
pardon?"
"Will you permit me to take it?"
"Most gladly."
The governor's secretary was immediately summoned, and the form of
pardon duly signed, sealed, and delivered to the joyful hand of Mr. John
Barry.
"And now," said the governor, "permit me to say that we shall at all
times be happy to receive you at Sydney; and in any way in which you can
find my countenance and support serviceable, I shall always be ready to
give them."
A cordial shake of the hand was mutually exchanged, and Mr. Barry
returned that day to Windsor Lodge one of the happiest, as far as hope
and good deeds can make a man so, on this changing earth.
He had communicated his success to Mrs. Palmer before he left Sydney.
The green hills of Hawkesbury never looked so bright in his eye before,
his house never so pleasant.
His servants saw an evident change in his manner, from the anguish of
mourning for the loss of a sister, to what they could not quite
comprehend; a state of liveliness they had never before witnessed in
him. Their master never appeared so interested about the house, the
rooms, the garden, and the green lawn. He was most unusually moved; he
gave orders for the preparation of his house to receive his
brother-in-law's children, to the great amazement of his female
domestics, who could not conceive how a bachelor would manage such a
family.
He did not breathe a word of his intention to any of his domestics; but
every one observed a great change in his behaviour, which all his
habitual quietude could not entirely conceal.
He wandered down to his favourite spot upon the river, and indulged in a
reverie of imaginary bliss, which, to say the truth, was more real with
him than with many thousands who fancy themselves in love.
Margaret arrived at Sydney on the day following the receipt of Mrs.
Palmer's letter. She was a little excited at the tone of that epistle,
but much surprised at being received in a manner to which she had never
been accustomed. Margaret saw in a moment, from Mrs. Palmer's manner,
that she had something to communicate of a very different kind to what
she had before mentioned, and at once said--
"I perceive, my dear lady, that you have something to say to me which
concerns me more than you wish to let me see it does, and yet you cannot
conceal it. You need not be afraid to tell me; good or bad, I am
prepared for it, but suspense is the most painful."
"The news I have to tell you then is good; to be at once declared--it is
your free pardon!"
"This is news indeed, my dearest lady; almost too good news--it comes so
unlooked for; forgive my tears." Margaret wept for joy.
"Shall I again see dear old England? shall I again see my dear friends,
my mistress, my uncle, aunt, and family? Oh! how shall I ever repay your
kindness? Oh! what can I say to you for your goodness? On my knees, I
thank God, my good friend, and say, God be praised for His mercies, and
bless you, the instrument thereof!"
"You may thank God; but you must not bless me, Margaret, for I am only
the bearer of the news. I have not even got the pardon in my possession;
but I have seen it. It is signed by the governor, and I know that you
are free."
"Oh! thanks, dear lady, thanks!--but is it not to Mr. Palmer that I am
indebted? You must have had something to do with it."
"Nothing farther than the giving you a just character to the governor by
the hand of a gentleman, who has interceded with him, and has pleaded
your cause successfully."
"Who is the gentleman? Do I know him?"
"Yes, you may know him when you see him. He read the account of your
saving the family of the Laceys in the flood; he listened with attention
to your former history: he does not live in Sydney, but at Windsor, on
the Hawkesbury; yet, from his interest with the governor, he obtained
your pardon."
"Bless the dear gentleman! How shall I ever be grateful enough to him?
But you say I know him?"
"I say I think you will. I know you did once know him, but you have not
seen him for many years."
"Who can it be, dear lady? You do not mean my brother Charles?"
"No."
"Who then can it be? Not my former master, or any of his family?"
"No, Margaret; I must be plainer with you. Do you remember a young man
of the name of Barry?"
"John Barry! Yes, I do. What of him? He went to Canada."
"No, he did not. He came to this country, has lived in it many years,
and has prospered greatly. He is in the confidence of the governor. He
accidentally discovered you were in the country. He it was--yes, he it
was--who went that very hour to the governor, and I have no doubt asked
it as a personal favour to himself that you should be pardoned. What say
you to such a man?"
"All that I can say is to bless him with a most grateful heart. Oh! dear
lady, he saved my life once, and now he gives me liberty! He was a good
young man; too good for such as me to think upon, though he once would
have had me think more of him. I had forgotten all but his kindness,
which I never can forget; and now it overwhelms me with astonishment. Is
he married, and settled in this country?"
"He is settled, but not married. He has been a prosperous man, and is as
benevolent as he is rich; but he never married, at which we have all
wondered."
This declaration made Margaret blush; a deep crimson flush passed over
her cheeks, and was succeeded by extreme paleness. Her heart heaved
convulsively, a faintness and dizziness came upon her, and she would
really have fallen had she not been supported by the kind attentions of
her benefactress.
"He has kept his word! Oh, Mrs. Palmer! I never thought to see him
again. I mistook the country he left me for. I have often thought of his
goodness to me in former days. I am now indebted to him for double
life!"
"Margaret, what if I tell you that for you only has he kept himself
single?"
"There was a time when he might and did think of me; but that time must
be gone by."
"I tell you, he loves you still."
"Impossible! Oh, if he does!--but it is impossible! Madam, this is all a
dream!"
"It is a dream, Margaret, from which you will shortly awake, as he is in
the house at this moment to present himself with the governor's pardon!"
"Dear lady, pray be present with me; I know not how to meet him!"
The door just then opened, and in came Mr. Barry, with the governor's
pardon in his hand. He approached Margaret, as she clung to Mrs. Palmer,
agitated beyond measure. She regarded him with more solemn feelings than
she did the judge who condemned her twice to death. She dropped upon her
knees, and hid her face before her deliverer. He lifted her up and
seated her, and, in the language of gentleness and tenderness, addressed
her thus:--
"Margaret, I have brought you a free pardon from the governor. Need I
remind you that God has mercifully sent me before you in this instance
to be your friend? To Him I know you will give all the thanks and
praises of a grateful heart."
"To Him I do first, sir; and to you, as his instrument, in the next
place. I am afraid to look upon you, and I am unworthy to be looked upon
by you. I am a----"
"You need not tell me, Margaret, what you have been. I know all. Think
not of what you were, but what you are. You are no longer a convict; you
are no longer under the ban of disgrace; you are no longer under the
sentence of the offended laws of man; you are now a free subject; and if
your fellow-creatures do not all forgive you, they cannot themselves
hope for forgiveness. You are at liberty to settle wherever you please."
"Oh! dear sir; and to you I owe all this! What will they say to you in
England, when I again embrace my dear friends there, and bless you for
the liberty thus granted me?"
"Margaret, hear me again. Remember, when I last saw you, I told you then
what I dreaded, if you refused to come out to this country with me. How
true those fears were, you can now judge. You made a choice then which
gave me anguish to be surpassed only by the present moment. You speak
now of returning to England. You have got your pardon, and are at
liberty so to do. It may seem ungenerous to me, at such a moment, to
urge your stay; but hear now my opinion and advice, and give them the
weight only of your calm judgement. If you return to England, take my
word for it you will not be happy. You will never be as happy as you may
be here. I speak this with feelings as much alive to your interest now
as they were when I last parted with you. I will suppose you returned.
Your own good heart makes you imagine that every one would be as glad to
see you there as you would truly be to see them. Your own heart deceives
you. I have known those who so bitterly lamented their return to
England, that they have come again to settle in this country, and have
offended those friends who would have respected them had they remained
here. When at a distance they felt much for them; but when they came
near to them, the pride of society made them ashamed of those who had
been convicts. It may be that some would be glad to see you; your good
mistress, your uncle and aunt: but circumstances might prevent their
being able to do you any great service. Your former mistress has a large
family, your uncle the same; you have no independence to live upon
there. The eye of envy would be upon you if you had wealth, and
detraction would be busy with your name. People would talk of your sins,
but would never value you for your integrity. You would probably soon
wish yourself in this country again, where your rising character would
be looked upon with respect, and all the past be forgiven, and in time
forgotten. Here you would have an established character: there you would
always be thought to have a dubious one. Besides all this, you are here
prospering. You can have the great gratification of relieving the
necessities of your aged relatives, and of obliging your best friends.
You would, believe me, be looked upon by them with far greater respect
and esteem than if you were nearer to them. Think, Margaret, of what I
now state, and divest yourself of that too great idea of happiness in
England. You are at liberty to go; but you will enjoy far greater
liberty if you stay in this country."
"What you say, sir, may be true in some respects; but I think I should
die happy if I once more saw my dear friends and relatives."
"God forbid that I should not approve your feeling! I, too, have a
father, and mother, and brothers in England, but I hear from them
continually, and they rejoice in my welfare. I love them dearly as they
do me. Two sisters have come out to me, and both have married and
settled in the country. One I have lost, who has left a husband and
seven children to lament her loss. I have strong ties, you see, in these
young people, to bind me to this country, for they look up to me as they
do to their father. But they are without female protection."
"If, my dear sir, I can be of any service to you or them for a term of
years, I shall feel it part of the happiness of that freedom you have
obtained for me to abide as long in this land. But I own that I still
feel that I should like to return one day to England. I am very grateful
for all your goodness, and shall ever bless you for the interest you
have taken in one so unworthy your favour."
"Margaret, I am deeply interested in these children. They have lost
their mother, my sister. Their aunt, now resident in the colony, has ten
children of her own, and it would not be fair that she should take seven
more into her house. The young man, now left a widower, is in such a
delicate state of health, and so disconsolate for the loss of his wife,
that I do not think he will be long amongst us. These circumstances made
me come to my good friend Mrs. Palmer for assistance and advice. Guess,
then, my astonishment to hear you recommended to me: you, above all
people in the world, whose presence I could have wished for, whose
gentleness I know, and who, if you will, can make both myself and all
these children happy."
"My dear sir, I stand in a very different position with regard to
yourself to what I formerly did. I do not forget that to your protecting
arm I owe the rescue of my life from the violence of one in whom my
misplaced confidence became my ruin and his own death. I never can
forget that to you I am a second time indebted for liberty, and that
which will sweeten the remainder of my days: the consciousness of being
restored, a pardoned penitent, to virtuous society. But I cannot forget
that I am still but little better than a slave: I am scarcely yet free.
I am not, as I was when you first offered me your hand and heart, upon
an equality with yourself. How then can you ask me to become your wife,
when there is such a disparity as must ever make me feel your slave? No,
generous and good man! I told you formerly that if Laud were dead I
might then find it in my heart to listen to your claims; but I never
thought that I should be in a situation so much beneath you as I am, so
very different to that which I once occupied."
"And do you think, Margaret, that I can ever forget that I was a
fellow-servant with you at the Priory Farm, upon the banks of the
Orwell? It was then I first made known to you the state of that heart
which, as I told you long ago, would never change towards you. You say
that our conditions are so very dissimilar: I see no great difference in
them; certainly no greater than when you lived at the cottage on the
heath and I was the miller's son. You are independent now. Your good
friend, Mrs. Palmer, has made you so, and will permit me to say, that
you have already an independence in this country far greater than ever
you could enjoy in England."
Margaret looked at Mrs. Palmer. That good woman at once confessed that
all the rent that Margaret had paid for the years she had been in the
farm was now placed in the Sydney bank, to her account, and quite at her
disposal. She added, that she had made over the estate she occupied at
Richmond Hill to her for ever.
What could Margaret now say? She found herself on the one hand made
free, through the intercession of a man who loved her, and on the other
she was made independent for life by a lady who had only known her in
her captivity, but who had respected and esteemed her. That lady now
thought it time to speak out.
"Margaret, do not think that I have given you anything more than what
you are strictly entitled to. Remember that, from a sense of justice
towards me, you refused the hand of a man who probably would have
settled all the estate upon you. But you chose to think yourself
unworthy of my kindness had you accepted his offer. You acted with great
discretion; and in settling this small portion upon you, I was guided by
a sense of justice and gratitude, which made me anxious to discharge a
just debt, and I do not consider that I have even given you as much as I
ought to have done."
"Indeed, you have, dear lady, and you have bound me to you for ever.
Have I, indeed, such dear friends in this country? Then do I feel it my
duty to remain in it, and I will learn to sigh no longer after that
place where I had so long hoped to live and die. You give me, however,
more credit for refusing the hand of Mr. Poinder than I deserve: I never
could have married a man who, in such an imperious manner, gave me to
understand his will. No; I was his servant, but not his slave. And any
woman who would obey the nod of a tyrant, to become his wife, could
never expect to enjoy any self-estimation afterwards. He told me his
intention of making me his wife in such an absolute way that I quite as
absolutely rejected him. I deserve no credit for this."
"Margaret," said Mr. Barry, "understand the offer I now make you. If you
are not totally indifferent to all mankind, and can accept the offer of
one whose earliest affections you commanded, then know that those
affections are as honest, and true, and faithful to you this day, as
they were when I first addressed you. Think me not so ungenerous as ever
to appeal to any sense of gratitude on your part. You cannot conceive
what unspeakable pleasure I have always thought it to serve you in any
way I might. You cannot tell how dead I have been to every hope but
that of being enabled to do good to others. This has been my purest
solace under your loss, Margaret; and if in daily remembrance of you I
have done thus much, what will not your presence always urge me to
perform?
"I sought a servant, a confidential kind of friend, to govern my
brother's household: I little thought that I should find the only person
I ever could or would make my wife. I offer you, then, myself and all my
possessions. I am willing to make over all I have, upon the contract
that you become the aunt of those dear children, and I know you too well
ever to doubt your kindness to them.
"As to your respectability, I have already declared to the governor my
full intention of offering you this hand. He has promised to recognize
you as my wife. Your friend here will not like you the less because you
are so nearly allied to me; and I will answer for all my relatives and
friends. None will ever scorn you, all will respect you, I will love
you. Say, then, will you live my respected wife at Windsor Lodge, or
will you still live alone at Richmond Hill?"
"It is you must choose," replied Margaret; "I cannot refuse. I never can
doubt you. I will endeavour to fulfil the station of a mother in that of
an aunt; and if my heart does not deceive me, I shall do my duty as an
honest wife."
After this explanation, it is needless, perhaps, to add that Margaret
Catchpole changed her name, and became the much-respected and beloved
wife of John Barry, Esq., of Windsor, by the Green Hills of Hawkesbury.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 11: The specimens in question may be seen distinguished by a
label attached to them with the following words:--
"MANURA SUPERBA.
"LYRA, OR BOTANY BAY PHEASANT.
"These beautiful birds were sent to the late Mrs. Cobbold, of the Cliff,
by Margaret Catchpole, a female servant, who stole a coach-horse from
the late John Cobbold, Esq., and rode it up to London in one night. She
was in the act of selling the horse when she was taken. She was in man's
apparel. She was tried at Bury in 1797, and received sentence of death,
which sentence, owing to the entreaties of the prosecutor, was changed
to seven years' transportation; but breaking out of gaol, she was
afterwards transported for life.
"Presented to this Museum by R. K. Cobbold, Esq."]