The History of Margaret Catchpole, a Suffolk Girl. Cobbold Richard
which it is known at the present day. High above it might be seen the mansion, shining in the moonbeam, and many lights burning in its various apartments – a sign of the hospitality of W. Berners, Esquire, the lord of that beautiful domain.
But the two sailors in the boat were little occupied with thoughts about the beauty of this scene, or the interest that might attach to that side of the water. Their eyes were bent upon the opposite shore; and, as they sailed along, with a favourable wind, they soon passed the boathouse and the mansion of Woolverstone.
“Luff, do you think we shall be lucky? I’d venture my share of the next run, if I could once safely harbour the prize from yonder shore.”
“Why, Will, you speak as if the Philistines were to meet you. Who can prevent your cutting out such a prize?”
“I know not; except that she is too difficult a craft to manage.”
“Pshaw, Will! her cable may be easily cut; and once we have her in tow, with this side-wind upon our sail, we shall be back again as quickly as we came.”
“Maybe, maybe, John; but I do not like being too desperate. I’ll fulfil my word, and give you more than half my share, which you know is a pretty good one, if you will lend me an honest and fair play.”
“I’ll do nothing, Bill, but what you tell me. I’ll lay like a log in the boat, and stir not without the boatswain’s whistle; and as to an honest hand, I’ll tell you what, Will, ’tis something as good as your own – it will do by you as well as your own would do by me.”
“Say no more, say no more! But look, John – I do believe I see her by the shore.”
“I see something white, but that’s the cottage in the Reach.”
“No, no, John; keep her head well up; my eyes are clearer than yours – I see her flag waving in the wind. You may take your tack now, John – we shall run directly across. Ease out the mainsail a bit, and I’ll mind the foresail. Bear up, my hearty! bear up, my hearty!”
With such words of mutual encouragement did these men of the sea, the river, and the land, after passing Woolverstone Park, steer directly across, towards Nacton Creek, that they might hug the wind under Downham Reach, and move more rapidly, in shallow water, against the tide.
Any one would imagine, from their conversation, that they were intent upon cutting out some vessel from her moorings, instead of a poor, defenceless girl, who, trusting to nothing but the strength of true love, stood waiting for them on the shore.
There stood the ever faithful Margaret, with palpitating heart, watching the light barque, as it came bounding over the small curling waves of the Orwell. In her breast beat feelings such as some may have experienced; but, whoever they may be, they must have been most desperately in love. Hope, fear, joy, and terror, anxiety, and affection – each, in turn, sent their separate sensations, in quick succession, into her soul. Hope predominated over the rest, and suggested these bright thoughts —
“He is coming to me, no more to be tried, no more to be disapproved, but to tell me he is an honest man, and engaged in honest service.”
What a picture would she have presented at that moment to any genuine lover of nature! Who could describe that eye of expectation, swelled as it was with the animating hope of happiness to come! Who could describe that heaving heart, answering as it did to every heave of the little boat which came bounding to the shore! And what words shall speak that sudden emotion, as the welcome sound of the grounding keel, and the rush of waters following it, told that the boat was ashore, which conveyed to a woman’s heart all that she had so long looked for, hoped, and feared – her lover’s return!
The watchword, “Margaret,” was spoken, and in another moment her joy and grief, and love and hope, were, as it were, embodied in the embrace of him she loved. Moments at such time fly too rapidly – an hour seems but an instant. There is so much to say, to express, to ponder upon, that the time is always too short. In honest love there seems to be no fear, no death, no time, no change – a sort of existence indescribably happy, indefinitely blissful, hopeful, and enduring.
In the heart of Margaret, the poor Margaret Catchpole, love was her life; and as she stood upon that strand, and first welcomed her William, she felt the purest, happiest, and holiest feelings of joy, rectitude, and honesty – such as she never before had felt to such extent, and such as she knew but for a few short moments, and often wished for again, but never, never afterwards experienced.
Since his absence from Margaret, the character of Laud had become more and more desperate, and to say that the same pure feeling burned in his breast as did in Margaret’s would not be true. No man who leads a guilty life can entertain that purity of love in his heart which shall stand the test of every earthly trial; but Margaret, like many real lovers, attributed to him she loved the same perfection and singleness of attachment which she felt towards him. Had she known that this pure flame was only burning as pure and bright in the honest soul of Jack Barry, she would, it may be, have rejected Laud, and have accepted him; but she knew not this. She was not blind to the faults of the sailor, though she was blinded to his real character. She expected to find a love like her own, and really believed his affection to be the same to the last.
“Now, Margaret,” he at length exclaimed, “now’s the time: my boat is ready, my ship is at the mouth of the river. A snug little cabin is at your service; and you will find more hearts and hands to serve you than you ever had in your life.”
“But where am I to go, William? What business have I on board your master’s vessel? He would not approve of your sailing with your young wife. I thought you came to tell me you were prepared to marry me from my own dear father’s house, and to be a comfort and a blessing to my aged mother.”
“Margaret, you say you love me. My time is short. I am come here to prove the sincerity of my love, and to take you, in an honest way, to a country where we may be married; but if you send me away now, we may never meet again.”
“If you are true, William – if, as you say, your prospects are good, and you have spared sufficient from your lawful gains to hire a cottage and to make me happy, why not get leave of absence, and come and marry me in dear old England?”
“I may not be able to get leave for a long time; and what difference does it make whether we are married here, or in my employer’s country? Marriage is marriage, Margaret, in every place, all the world over.”
“Yes, Will; but I have heard that marriages solemnized in some countries do not hold good in others; and whether they did or not, I should like those who first gave me birth to give me to you, William. My consent, they know, is a willing one; but I should not be happy in mind, if I were to leave my parents without their knowing where I was gone.”
“What will it matter if they do not know it till we return? I almost think you would like another better than me, Margaret.”
“If you, William, were, in some respects, other than you are, I should like you full as well; but, as you are, I love you, and you know it. Why not come ashore, and marry me at our own church, and in the presence of my own parents? As to any other, William, though another may like me, I cannot help it, but I can help his having me.”
“Then there is another that does love you! – is there, Margaret?”
A blush passed over Margaret’s face as she replied, “Another has told me so, and I did not deceive him. He thought you dead, or he would never have ventured upon the subject. I told him he was mistaken, that you were not dead, and that I still loved you, William.”
“Then he knows I live, does he?”
“Yes.”
“And you have betrayed me?”
“No: I have not told any one but him; and as he pressed his suit, thinking that you were no more, I felt it to be only due to him to tell him you were alive.”
“And who is he, Margaret? You would not have been so plain with him if he had not had somewhat of your confidence.”
“He is an honest young man, and of very good and respectable parents – he works at the Priory Farm; and