The History of Margaret Catchpole, a Suffolk Girl. Cobbold Richard
Cave, to assume the name of Hudson, and to become again neither more nor less than a desperate smuggler.
We will not follow him through his career of guilt: suffice it to say, that he contrived to send word to Margaret that he had entered into the service of a Dutch trader, and was promised a future share of his ship. He pretended to have quitted the society of the smugglers, who at that time so infested the eastern coasts of this country; and as she heard no more of his name, and received no more suspicious presents, she suffered her heart to cherish the fond hope of his reformation.
The anticipation of days to come, and the promised pleasure of those days, are always greater than are ever realized by mortals. It is, however, one of the greatest blessings of life to anticipate good. The hope, too, of another’s welfare, and of being the humble instrument of promoting the interest of another, is the sweetest bond of woman’s cherished affection. Truly may such be termed man’s helpmate, who would do him good, and not evil, all the days of his life.
Poor Margaret found, that the more she hoped for Laud’s amendment, the more constant became her attachment, the more she excused his past life, and the more deeply her heart became engaged to him.
CHAPTER V WILD SCENES
Margaret, true to her intentions of going to service, found a kind friend in Mrs. Denton, who recommended her to Mrs. Wake, of the Priory Farm, Downham Reach. Here, in September, 1792, she took up her abode as servant-of-all-work. The whole farm-house was formerly the priory of a small body of Augustine Monks, and was known by the name of the Alneshbourne Priory. It is surrounded by a moat of considerable depth and breadth, and was formerly approached by a drawbridge from the southern side.
The site of this old house is still a most romantic and sequestered spot. In front of it, along a pleasant green slope to the shore, runs a rippling stream, which having passed through the moat, meanders along the meadow down to the Orwell, whose broad waters look here like a magnificent lake.
On either side of the valley rise the rich woods of Downham Reach; and behind the house, in the green meadows, may still be seen, though now covered in with a roof and used as a barn, the chapel of this sequestered fraternity.
Lofty elms overshadow the summit of this ancient house, though they grow upon the open space beyond the moat; and the woods of the owner of the present house and the district, Sir Philip Broke, stand conspicuously towering on the sides of the hills. The lover of peaceful nature could not fail to be struck with the tranquil yet picturesque scenery around this spot. Here Gainsborough, who, in his younger days, was much encouraged by Dr. Coyte of Ipswich, loved to roam, and catch the ever-varying tints of spring and autumn. Here Constable, – the enthusiastic, amiable, but pensive John Constable, one of the best of England’s landscape-painters, – indulged himself in all the hopes of his aspiring genius; and Frost, a native of Ipswich, one of the best imitators of Gainsborough’s style, and whose sketches are at this day most highly esteemed, used to indulge himself in the full enjoyment of his art.
At the period we write of – the year 1792 – the Orwell’s waves went boldly up to the port, as new and briny as in the days of the Danish invasion. Now they no longer wash the town. A wet-dock, with its embankments and its locks, shuts out the ebb and flow of waters, and may be convenient to the inhabitants of the place; but sadly interferes with the early associations and recollections of those who, like the writer of this narrative, passed their boyish years upon the banks of the Orwell.
But we must no longer wander from our narrative. Margaret, as servant at the Priory Farm, conducted herself in so exemplary a manner, that she soon gained the good will of her master and mistress, and the good word of all the labourers upon the farm. Amongst these latter was a young man who was particularly acquainted with Margaret’s history, and whose name has occurred in a previous chapter. This was no other than John Barry, the elder brother of young Edward Barry, who so gallantly led the attack upon the smugglers on the night in which Will Laud was supposed to have been killed. John was well aware of Margaret’s attachment and engagement to Will Laud; and he knew the part his brother had taken in the conflict; and believed, as Edward told him, that he had slain Margaret’s lover. Whether it was the sympathy which arose toward the poor girl under these circumstances, or the real pleasure which he felt in her society, it is certain that he became so deeply enamoured as never to be able to root out of his mind this his first and last attachment.
This young man was a contrast in every respect to Will Laud. John Barry was the elder son of a small farmer and miller at Levington, who, having a numerous family, was anxious they should all be employed. John, as was customary in that day, sought employment away from his parents’ house. He had asked their permission to let him turn his hand to farming for a year; and as he was already a good ploughman, and understood the various methods of culture, he readily found an employer. He was also as good a scholar for that period as could be found in any of the adjoining parishes. Added to this, he was a good-principled, steady, persevering, industrious young man. His father was not badly off in the world for his station. He it was who first discovered the use of crag-shells for manure. His man, Edmund Edwards, finding a load or two of manure was wanted to complete the fertilization of a field which Mr. Barry cultivated, carried a load or two of the crag, which lay near the mill, to make it up. He observed, that in the very place which he thought would prove the worst crop, on account of the seeming poverty of the soil carted, there arose the most luxuriant produce. Next year Mr. Barry used it more freely, and found a more abundant recompense. He then opened immense crag-pits, supplied the country around, and shipped a large quantity at Levington Creek. By these means he became known as an enterprising man. His second son took to the sea, and became active in the service of his native coast. Another son went out to America, and did remarkably well.
John went as head man to Mr. Wake, of the Priory Farm. When he left his father’s house, the worthy miller gave him one guinea, with this advice —
“Many a man, John, has entered into the world with less than that, and by industry, integrity, and good behaviour, has risen to usefulness and respectability; and many a man, John, who has entered upon life with thousands and thousands of those shining coins, has sunk to worthlessness and degradation. Go, boy; be honest, sober, steady, and diligent. Keep your church and God’s commandments, John, and you will prosper. But should misfortune ever visit you, remember that whilst your mother and I live you will always find a welcome home. God bless you, boy! God bless you!”
John left home, with a guinea in his pocket and with love in his heart. He did well, even in his first situation. He lived in the farm-house with Mr. and Mrs. Wake, about seven miles from his father’s house. He did not then dream that he should ever visit any distant shore connected with his native country. His dreams were of home, industry, and peace. He had enough – was contented – was well respected; had good health and full employment, and was a burden to no one. From his constant habit of witnessing the energy, and activity, and good disposition of the youthful Margaret, and from a certain knowledge of her past misfortunes, he imbibed a delicacy of interest in her behalf, which was shown to her by repeated acts of respect, which others on the farm less delicate did not care to show. Margaret herself perceived these attentions, and felt grateful to him for them. Whilst some would now and then relate what they heard of the wild adventures of Hudson the smuggler, John Barry always carefully concealed any mention of matters which he could see gave her pain. So cautious had been his advances towards a more intimate acquaintance with Margaret, that no one on the farm suspected that John Barry, the son of the well-to-do Mr. Barry, of Levington, was in the least captivated by the humble maid of the Priory. Margaret, however, suspected and dreaded that such might be the case; and she avoided him as pointedly as she could, without offence to one whom she so much respected. Barry, however, was too honest to conceal his feelings from the only person he wished to know them. Returning one evening from work along Gainsborough’s Lane, he met Margaret, who had been to Sawyer’s farm upon an errand for her mistress.
“Margaret, you know I love you,” said the young man, “though I do not believe that any one upon the farm besides yourself has any idea of it.”
“I feared you did, John, and it grieves me very much to hear you say so.”
“But why should it grieve you? I love you honestly, and will always do my best to make you happy.”
“Yes,