The History of Margaret Catchpole, a Suffolk Girl

“I say, old boy, let that bell wether of mine alone, will you?”

The shepherd started, and left the staff, and approached the young man.

“What do you put that flag there for, young man?”

“Because such are my orders.”

“But suppose I wish to have that flag for a sheet for my bed to-night, who shall prevent it?”

“I will.”

“Why, I could lick half a dozen such fellows as you, with one arm.”

“Maybe so – but come, now, let’s have a fair trial of strength. Lay down your crook between us, and see if you or I can pull the other over it. If you succeed, then take the flag. If I, then you must take yourself off how you can.”

“Done,” said the shepherd – "it shall be a bargain;" and he threw his crook down on the ground. “Now for it, young man.”

Accordingly, they approached each other. Young Edward saw that he had a formidable antagonist to contend with, a brawny, sinewy frame, full of compact strength, and more than an equal match for his youth; but he resolved not to give the whistle, if he could overcome the man any how by himself.

“Stop,” said Edward; “you have laid the crook so as to give yourself the upper hand: that is not fair. Lay it down from sea to river, so that we both have the same chance in the slant. I’ll show you what I mean.”

And the young man showed him in a moment what he meant; for, taking up the crook, and stooping down to place it as he had said, with a shepherd’s dexterity (for the reader will remember that the youth was also a shepherd) he swung it round the ankle of the old man, and at the same instant gave it such a jerk, as pitched him backwards upon his head, which came with such violence upon the stones, that he was completely stunned. Edward was for a moment fearful that he was dead; but conjecturing, very wisely, that he might revive, he took out of his wallet the old man’s sheep-cords (strong thongs which shepherds use when they dress their sheep, or such as sheep-shearers use when they clip them), and, without more ado, he tied his hands and legs together behind him, so that he was completely pinioned.

It was well that young Catchpole had taken this advantage and precaution; for, upon searching the inner pocket of the wallet, he found a brace of pistols, primed and loaded, which would have made the contest very uneven. As the old man shortly began to revive, he called out most lustily for help.

“Hold your tongue,” said Edward, “or I will shoot you dead with your own pistols! Lie still, and no one will hurt you. What should an honest man, in your calling, do with such weapons as these?”

The old fellow was soon convinced that he had to deal with as good a hand as his own; and one as expert at catching a ram, too. His arms and legs were tied in such a scientific manner, as convinced him that the young man was a shepherd. He thought it best, therefore, to bear his present condition silently.

“Come along, old boy,” said the youth, as he stuck the shepherd’s crook under the cords, and began dragging him along towards his boat; “I’ll ease you down to the river.”

“Take care you are not eased down yourself,” said the old man. “I have friends, who will give you your deserts before long, and ease me of these clutches.”

“I’ll tell you what you deserve, old man; and what, if the coastguard suffer to-night, you will receive. You deserve to be thrown into the river as you are; and if I have many words with you, and you refuse to give me a plain direction and answer to whatever question I put to you, you may depend upon it I will do it myself; and that will soon settle all disputes between us. You have had in your wallet, pistols; your crook would make a flagstaff; and I find, upon dragging you along, that, as your jacket buttons give way, you have half a sheet round your body. Tell me, when did you intend to give the smugglers the signal? It will do you no good to tell me a lie. You have seen enough to be convinced I understand what you are. You had better tell me the truth at once, or a cold salt-water bath will compel you to do so.”

“Not to-night! – not to-night!”

“Why not to-night?”

“Because the coastguard are upon the watch.”

As they proceeded on their way, Edward asked the old man, “Do you expect Captains Laud or Luff to-night? You may as well tell me; for you must be pretty well convinced, by this time, that I know what is going on.”

“Well – I expect Captain Luff. Laud is dead.”

The young man fairly dropped the crook, as he repeated Maud’s words – "Laud is dead! Laud is dead! – How do you know that?”

“If you will unbind me, I will tell you all about it.”

“Perhaps I may, when you tell me how and where he died, and show me what proof you have of his death.”

“Will you unbind me then?”

“Yes; when I think you have been bound long enough.”

“These thongs cut me sore.”

“How can that be? they are too broad to cut; and if you do not attempt to draw your hands asunder, you know, as well as I do, that the knot is tied so that they cannot hurt you. I see, by your keeping your hands close together, that they do not hurt you.”

They had now arrived at the river’s side, where a large ferry-boat, such as is used to carry stock over from the mainland to the island, was moored against the shore. Edward lifted the old man into the broad-bottomed craft, and laying him down upon the boards, pulled up the anchor, and shoved off towards the island. The old man soon perceived that Edward was no sailor, by the manner in which he managed, or rather mismanaged the boat; and truly this was the hardest work the young man had yet to perform. He had been so taken up with the thought of doing everything he was commissioned to do, and in his pride so determined to do it all himself, without help, that he had overlooked his greatest difficulty, and forgot that he should want assistance to row the boat. He still did not use his whistle; but, with very great exertion, and very awkward management, contrived to bring the boat to the island, and to shove her along the side of the marsh wall, to a creek, close by the shepherd’s house. He then lifted the old man out of the boat, and dragged him up the mud wall, and laid him down at his cottage door. The door was locked; and, in the scuffle, the key of it had fallen out of the old man’s pocket; and Edward was obliged to make his way in at a low window behind the house; when, having forced back the bolt, he pulled the old man in, and lifted him on to a bed, which was in the room adjoining, and took a seat by his side.

“I’m both hungry and thirsty after all my exertions; have you any refreshment of any kind in this comfortable dwelling?”

“You will find plenty in the closet by the fireplace. I wish I could eat and drink with you.”

“So you may, and I will feed you as if you were my cosset lamb.”

He soon found that the shepherd’s cottage contained sufficient to recruit the spirits of any man whose stomach was not too proud for wholesome food. There was a slice of cold boiled bacon, and bread and cheese in plenty. There was brandy, too, but very bad water; and it required something stronger than tea to take off the brackish taste; brandy alone could make it palatable for man. The cattle sometimes suffered by drinking it. The young shepherd fed the old one, whose muscular limbs were now as powerless as an infant’s; not from second childhood, but from the dexterity with which they were bound together. There was something of kindness in the young man’s manner, though he was justified, in self-defence, to take the advantage he had done.

“Now,” said he, “tell me how you know Captain Laud is dead?”

“Captain Luff told me so.”

“And is that all you know of it? Have you no other proof?”

“Yes; I have the captain’s watch, which Luff gave to me, and the case of it has his true-love’s name engraved in the inside. The watch is in the old plum-tree box, in the cupboard.”

The young man eagerly examined the spot. He found the box, and in it the watch, with both names engraved on the inside of the case, shining as bright, and the engraving as sharp, as if it had been executed only that very day. “William Laud and Margaret Catchpole,” round the interior circumference, and “June 1st, 1794,” with a wreath of victory surrounding it, in the centre.

“All this is correct, as you say; but how did he die?”

“Well, I will tell you all I know. Captain Luff (if you do not know him, I do) is a most desperate fellow; a price is set upon his head, dead or alive, so that it be but taken. Well, he murdered the poor girl whose name is written in the watch; and I firmly believe that he murdered Captain Laud too! Towards the close of the last year I was upon Sudbourn Heath, keeping my sheep, and who should I meet but Captain Luff, who accosted me with this question: —

“‘Have you seen my young commander, Captain Laud, pass this way?’

“Well, it was a curious question, and quite natural too; for about six o’clock that very morning, as I was taking my sheep out of the fold, who should pass by me but the gallant young fellow whom he inquired after? Singularly enough he asked after Luff, and whether I knew if he was upon the coast. I told him that I had not had any signals lately; but that some of the crew were ashore, and were staying at the Mariner’s Compass, at Orford. Well, I told Luff the same as I now tell you; and he no sooner received the intelligence, than with all the eagerness of a blood-hound when he touches upon the scent of his victim, he was off for Orford in a moment. Well, I thought this was all for old acquaintance’ sake, or for business; so I rather rejoiced in the adventure. That very night I had made an appointment to take some game; and as I went up the Gap Lane, leading to the Heath, I heard angry words, and soon found the two captains at variance. I had no wish, as you may suppose, to interfere with their strife, so I quietly laid myself up in the ferns. It was a dreadful sound to hear the thunder of those two men’s voices. How they cursed each other! At length I heard the report of two pistols, and one of the balls passed within a yard of my head, but as for blows, I could not count them. They fought each other like two bull-dogs, I should say for near an hour, till I heard the snap and jingle of a broken sword, and then one of them fled. I found the broken part of the blade next morning close to the spot. It was red with blood; and the marks of feet in the sand were as numerous as if twenty men had been contending. I found drops of blood sunk into the sand all the way down the lane, until you come to the marshes: here I lost the track. I have seen no more of Laud since. But what makes me think that he was killed by Luff on that night is the after-behaviour of the captain. About two months after this occurrence I received a signal from the North Vere; and who should it be but Luff. Well, he came home to my cottage, and as we sat together I said, by way of a sounder, ‘Where’s Captain Laud?’

“‘What makes you ask that question?’ says he, hastily and fiercely. ‘Have you any particular reason for asking me after him? Speak out at once,’ says he, – ’ speak out; have you heard anything about him?’

“The terrific glare of the fiend’s eye fell upon me so cruelly that I dared not tell him I had witnessed the fight, so I said, ‘I have not seen the captain for so long a time, that I did not know where he was.’

“‘Ho! ho! that’s it, is it?’ says he. ‘Have you seen him since the morning you fed your sheep on Sudbourn Heath?’

“‘No,’ says I; ‘he was then anxious to see you. Did you find him?’

“‘Yes, I did; and I have reason to think he was lost at sea that very night; for he agreed to come on board, and we have seen nothing more of him, nor two of our crew, since that very time. Two of my men were in the river boat, but I have seen nothing of them since. They were to have joined the crew off the head of the North Vere, but we never saw them again.’

“‘That’s very odd,’ says I; ‘but how did you join the crew?’

“‘I got a cast down the river in Master Mannell’s boat, the old fisherman of Boyton.’

“Then, after a pause,

“‘Here, Jim,’ says he, ‘I’ll make you a present of poor Will’s watch. I do not like to wear it; it grieves me when I look at it. We used to be such friends.’

“Now I thought this very strange, and it confirmed me in the opinion that his conscience would not let him rest. I took the watch, and you have now got it in your hand.”

“What shall I give you for this watch?” said Edward.

“What you like; for ever since I have had it, it has appeared to me as if I was an accomplice in Captain Laud’s murder.”

“I will give you half a guinea.”

“Well, it is yours.”

“I will put the money into the box in the cupboard. Time now wears away. What are all these pieces of wood for?”

“They are tholes for the boat, when the smugglers use it.”

“With your permission I will take them with me. Have you any oars for them also?”

“No! the smugglers bring their own oars.”

“Well, I must be moving; and now since you have told me the truth, and I have every reason to thank you, I will candidly tell you who I am: I am Margaret Catchpole’s brother.”

“You are a shepherd, then?”

“I am a shepherd.”

“I was sure of it by the manner in which you used these thongs. May I ask, is your sister dead?”

“She is not dead. How many men do you expect from the lugger when they land?”

“Ten, with the captain.”

“Well, lie you still now. I must, for the sake of fulfilling the orders of my commander, fasten your cords to the bedstead, or I may be blamed. So: that will do. Now, should the captain himself come to see you, he will be convinced that the foul play was not your part; and if he does not come to-night, I will. But time presses, and I must do my duty. Where is your lamp?”

“I see by your question,” said the old man, “that all is discovered. You want the lamp to put in the window upstairs; you will find it under the bed.”

There it was, and was soon lighted and put in its proper place: a joyful signal of success to the brave and patient coastguard, and a fatal lure to the desperadoes on board the smuggler.

“Now then, old friend, good-bye,” said Edward. “If success attend our scheme you and I may be better acquainted; you may be glad that you have told me all the truth. Farewell.”

The youth was soon on board the ferry-boat; and with much labour brought her to the same spot where he had before unmoored her. The tide had fallen some feet, and was near its last ebb, so that he very wisely drew her up as high as he could on to the shore, concluding that if he anchored her in the water when the tide flowed again, which it would soon do, it would cover the anchor on the shore. He drew her up far enough just to place her cable’s end at high-water mark; and having put the tholes in their proper places, he then walked across to the white flag. Just before he passed the dell, who should lift up his head but young Barry!

“I began to think our plan had not succeeded. Is all right?”

“All is as you could wish it, and more; but I will tell you all another time.”

“We can see the lugger,” said young Barry, “standing off and on: our white flag is successful. You must go to the right, so as to lay yourself in such a position as to command a view of this little dell and the river. Bring yourself to anchor full a hundred yards from this hole, for I suspect the fight will be here; keep your head below the ocean mark when you give the signal, or a few bullets may whistle about your ears.”

Only those who have had anything to do with the preventive service can tell the dangers and difficulties which the poor fellows who defend our trade have to encounter; how much toil and anxiety, and how seldom sufficient honour or reward do such men gain in discharging their onerous duty. It is a life of feverish vexation. Fancy fourteen men collected and stationed along four miles of coast the whole day, buried in the pebbles, and waiting on a cold night for the approach of the smuggler. They all saw the vessel reconnoitring and sailing about the offing: the least want of circumspection on their part would thwart the scheme which up to this moment promised success. Even the men accustomed to this kind of work shook with the anxiety of suspense; but what must have been the sensations of the young landsman who had to give the signal for the onset, in which more than one might fall? To say that he did not suffer severely, enough almost to make him wish himself at home, would not be true; the thought, however, that he might be instrumental in bringing the villain Luff to justice for all his crimes, and the singular manner in which he had discovered his treachery to Laud, made the young man some amends for the truly painful task he had undertaken.

Night now began to draw on, and the sea-birds left off their screaming; the tern and the dottrell hastened to their resting-places; and the last of all the feathered sea-shore tribe, the one which goes to roost the latest, the grey curlew, bent his rapid wing toward Havergate Island, and gave a mournful note as he flapped over the head of the young watchman. As the moon arose the wind began to blow a little fresh, and the ocean to roar upon the beach. The smugglers rejoiced at this, as it would enable them to land their cargo with less chance of being heard. The flag still streamed and flapped in the wind; the light shone like a star in the shepherd’s cot; and the time drew near for the contest.

Not a sound could be now heard save that of the wind. The vessel, however, might be seen in the moonlight, approaching the shore; and now a heavy eight-oared boat was seen to leave her: she was heavily laden, even to the gunwale. The boat lurched through the breakers like a log. On she came, with her helmsman, John Luff, who laid her broadside on to the shore. Now for an anxious moment. Not a word was spoken. The wind preventing any sound along the shore, nothing could be heard even of the grounding of the boat’s keel upon the beach. Dark figures of men were seen getting out of the boat. They were expert sailors, up to their work; as the sea heaved the boat up, they dragged her higher on the shore, until they could more conveniently unload her. This was done as expeditiously as possible; each man carried a sack heavily laden. They went to the very spot that Barry had named, deposited their load, and again returned to their boat. Twice they performed this work; and now the two last men, carrying the eight oars, brought up the rear. The eight quietly seated themselves on the sacks, whilst the other two went forward with the oars; they returned, and, as young Edward concluded, must have said, “All’s right.”

By this time the coastguard were drawing their lines closer to the spot, each man taking up his brother, or calling on him as he passed him, until the whole fourteen were within the space of ten yards from the flag; breathless, on their knees did they await the shrill whistle which, like the trumpet’s sound, was to give the word for the charge.

Young Catchpole saw the smugglers emerge from the dell, with each man his sack upon his shoulder; for an instant he thought he ought to wait until they came the second time, but as his orders did not say so, and he judged that if they once stowed away half their cargo they would make quickly for the river, he deemed it best to give the signal at once; so drawing in his breath, he gave the whistle such a long, shrill blast, that had the wind lain that way it might have been heard to Orford. He did not raise himself up, and it was well he did not, for over his head whizzed a ball, and flash – flash – flash went the pistols. As was predicted the men dropped their cargoes, and ran for the pit, but here stood the coastguard ready to receive them, young Barry having brought his men down below the horizon of the sea, that they might not be exposed to the sight of the smugglers, whilst the river lying lower, and they ascending from it, became a visible mark against the moonlit water for their fire.

Dreadful was the contest that ensued. The smugglers formed a close line: the coastguard line was more measured, and with some spaces between each two men, so that their danger was the less. The firing, as they approached each other, was awful; two men of the smugglers fell. They closed nearer, and swords clashed and sparkled in the moonlight; and the uproar at length became more audible than the noise of the wind and waves. At last there was one sudden, tremendous yell from the boat’s crew, and then the cry for quarter; some fell, others fled, not to the boat but along the coast. It was the object of the coastguard not to pursue them so far as to separate from each other; and as three fled one way, and two another, they merely sent flying shots after them, and cleared a passage to the boat. The shout announced the leader of the smugglers to be shot, and two more were lying by his side, and two surrendered, and were disarmed and guarded, whilst but one of the coastguard had fallen.

As the enemy was dispersed young Barry mustered his men, and missed his comrade. They found him near the two smugglers who had first fallen. Close to them lay the captain, his arm nearly cut in two, shot in the side, and severely wounded on the head. Young Edward, who had seen the fight, now came forward to render further assistance. The two smugglers were dead; but the preventive-service man and the captain of the crew were not dead, though both were severely wounded.

The two wounded men were taken to the shepherd’s cottage. Four men, with Barry and young Edward, rowed across to the island, whilst ten men were left to guard the prisoners and the cargo, and to secure the smugglers’ boat. The whole proved to be a most valuable prize.

The captain, as the reader may suppose, proved to be no other than the hated John Luff. The old shepherd was released by young Catchpole, and from cramp and pain from his long doubled-up position he could scarcely stand. The two wounded men were placed upon his bed, presenting such a contrast of feature, expression, and character, as the ablest artist in the world could not have justly delineated. Luff, with his dark brow, haggard eye, and hairy face, looking like a dying hyena, looked up and saw before him, Barry, Catchpole, and the shepherd; and with the scowl of revenge (a strong passion to exhibit in such agony), he muttered a dreadful curse upon them all. The poor coastguard man, with his pale but placid countenance, though suffering severely from his wounds, extended his hands to his commander, and implored him to let him be carried to another bed, to let him lie on the floor in the other room, or anywhere but head to head beside the demon who lay shuddering and cursing by his side.

The bed of the shepherd’s daughter, who was at that time staying at Orford, was brought down and laid in the keeping-room beside the fireplace, and the poor fellow was laid upon it. Luff’s death-hour was evidently at hand. It was a fearful thing to see him in his horrible tortures, and to hear him, in his groans and moans, proclaiming himself the murderer of Will Laud. Whenever he opened his eyes he saw nothing but the evidences of guilt before him, as he raved in wild frenzy, —

“There! there! there! I see him! He is not dead! – no! no! no! There’s Laud and Margaret Catchpole! Look! they laugh at me!”

At last, with one wild scream, his spirit, like an affrighted bird, fled away. Never did those who stood near him witness such a death. A cold shudder crept over their flesh, and they owned one to another that they should never forget that awful sight.

When it became known that the notorious smuggler, John Luff, was killed, numbers came to see him; and few that saw his body but owned that he was a fearful fellow when living. Government paid the reward over into the hands of the coastguard, who all subscribed liberally towards the comfort of their wounded messmate. Edward Catchpole was included among those who shared the reward, and this enabled him to pay all his expenses without any recurrence to his sister’s purse.

When young Catchpole returned to Nacton with the eventful tidings of his journey, and related all the particulars to Margaret, stating his full belief of Laud’s death, she pondered for a while over his statement, and then expressed her dissent from her brother’s conclusions.

“I see no certain proof of Laud’s death,” said she. “The old shepherd and the wretch Luff, may both have supposed him dead; but there is a mystery not yet cleared up which fills me with strange hopes – I mean the sudden disappearance of the two sailors with the boat that very night. Luff made no mention of them in his dying moments. I really think these two men are somehow connected with the safety of Laud; and I yet have hope.”