of the early impressions of religion, the heroine of these pages fell into errors of temper and passion, which led to the violation of the laws of God and man; but that, after the inculcation of Christian faith and virtue, she became conspicuous for the sincerity of her reformation and for an exemplary life: that, though it pleased God to grant her ‘a place of repentance’, yet it was through such bitter sorrows and sufferings of mind and body as she most devoutly desired others might be spared.
The public may depend upon the truth of the main features of this narrative: indeed, most of the facts recorded were matters of public notoriety at the time of their occurrence. The author who here details them is a son of the lady with whom this extraordinary female lived, and from whose hands he received the letters and the facts here given. He is persuaded that much will be found in the history of Margaret Catchpole highly worthy of praise and imitation; and, if that which is unworthy shall only be taken as a warning example, he humbly hopes that the public will be both gratified and benefited by the publication.
Rectory, Wortham.
CHAPTER I EARLY SCENES
The heroine of this romantic but perfectly true narrative was born in the year 1773. There was a large tract of extra-parochial land toward the north of the bounds of the parish of Nacton, Suffolk, reaching from Rushmere Heath down to the banks of the beautiful river Orwell. This tract was known by the name of Wolfkettel, and commenced at the Seven Hills, and terminated on the south side of Alneshbourne Priory.
The spot called the Seven Hills, though originally there were sixteen, was, in all probability, the site of the famous battle of Arwell, fought between the Earl of Ulfketel and the Danes, in A.D. 1010. It was a wild waste, and a great part of it to this day remains much in the same state, fit only for sheepwalks or a warren, or as a preserve for game. The tract lying nearest to the Orwell was very early brought into cultivation; and at the time this narrative commences, was famous for the production of the best barley in the county. In a cottage on these lands lived Jonathan Catchpole, an industrious labourer, and father of six children, of whom Margaret was the second daughter, and youngest child but one.
The farm upon which the father and his sons worked was then held by Mr. Denton, who was well known for his famous Suffolk cart-horses – strong bone, short joints, clean legs, stout chests, high crests, light chestnut, with silvery manes, and tails that ought to have swept the ground, but for a barbarous custom of docking them at that period, one of the most insane fashions of the day.
Jonathan Catchpole had a team of these horses to look after, and was the head ploughman on the estate. His boys were engaged in various parts of the farm.
The youngest daughter was made a sort of pet by the rest of the family; and, as the eldest girl was always of a sickly constitution, it fell to the lot of Margaret to carry her father’s and brothers’ meals to them in the field.
Who has not seen the healthy face of childhood in those ever interesting years when activity commences? And what philanthropist, delighting in scenes of genuine simplicity and nature, could fail to admire the ruddy glow of youth, and the elastic step of confidence, with which the young female peasant bounds to meet a parent or a brother, at the welcome hour of noon, bearing the frugal dinner of bread and cheese, or it may sometimes chance to be bread and pork?
The child becomes of some consequence, entrusted with the basket of provision; and, as she stands against the bank of the hedgerow, watching the progressive march of the horses as they come toward her, drawing the plough and turning over the soil, guided as they are by the steady hand of her father, she presents a picture worthy of observation.
On these occasions, Margaret was as punctual to her hour as the sun. On reaching the field she would set her basket down and jump into her father’s arms, and kiss his warm forehead, and receive in return a reward, which even in infancy gave her the utmost delight, viz. a seat upon one of the horses’ backs, and there she would remain until she was taken off by the same hands which placed her there, and gave her the empty basket to carry home.
“May I come in the evening, father?” she used to say, as she looked wistfully round the horizon, to see if any appearance of rain forebode an unfavourable answer; for this request “to come in the evening” contained an imaginative delight, exceeding in its kind the prospect of the fox hunter for a coming run. For Margaret, when she did “come in the evening,$” used to have the privilege of riding home one of the plough-horses.
This was a singular penchant for a female child to imbibe, but with it mingled the pleasure of her father’s and brothers’ smiles; and this, after a day of toil, seemed to give elasticity to their spirits, and formed an agreeable change to the unvarying monotony of ploughing straight lines, the clinking of chains, and their rural “wooah come ather, woree, wooo, jeh!" sounds as unintelligible to some readers as the language of the savages of the Caribbee islands, when first discovered.
Sometimes the crack of the whip would make the horses start, and the young men, her brothers, who would try to frighten their sister, found, instead of so doing, that it only increased the pleasure of her ride. At length, she began to trot the leading horse home.
After a time, this privilege was extended to riding the farm-horses down to water; and this appears to have been the very summit of Margaret’s delight. She used to take her brother’s whip in her tiny hand, drive the whole team before her into the water, keep them in order while there, and then drive them out again, up the sandy lane, into the stable-yard.
It is well known that at such times it is no easy task to sit a cart-horse; for they will kick, and plunge, and exhibit that rough kind of amusement known by the name of “horse-play,” which has as much of shrieking and biting as it has of gambolling in it.
In going out to, and coming home from, water, horses accustomed to the heaviest labour, if at all well fed, will exhibit no mean share of this species of spirit; and woe be to the lad without a whip in his hand, or who has not a very steady seat!
Gainsborough and Constable were both lovers of the scenery around Ipswich; and many are the sketches in the possession of their Suffolk friends, which speak their admiration of the beautiful landscapes which surround the river Orwell.
Had these artists seen Margaret in her equestrian character, they would have immortalized her; for nothing could have been more appropriate to the spirit of their works.
Margaret was fearless as a Newmarket jockey; and never was known to have had a single fall. She kept her seat as well as any of the tutored children of the celebrated but unfortunate Ducrow: indeed, it may be fairly questioned if any one of his troop could have managed to sit a Suffolk cart-horse with the same composure.
The fame of our young heroine’s exploits reached but little farther than the sequestered farm-house to which her parents belonged, excepting now and then at the Ipswich races, when some of the lads saw an awkward rider, they would exclaim to each other, “Margaret would beat him hollow.”
Time flew swiftly on, producing no farther change in the family of the Catchpoles than what may be usually seen in the habitations of the labouring class. Those are generally the most stationary race of all people in a parish, who have constant employment on a large farm: the owners of lands change their places of abode – sell their estates – and leave the country; the tenants frequently change their occupations; but the labourer remains to cultivate the soil, and is always found a resident among those “poor who shall never perish out of the land.” They have their friends and fellow-labourers, and feel as much interest in each other’s welfare as the members of richer or wider-spread fraternities.
The Catchpoles and the Cracknells were two families that principally worked upon the lands of Mr. Denton. Their houses were indeed widely separated; but as their labours were in the same field, their occasions
