Then, with tears rolling down her cheeks, Margaret tottered to the cart which had been provided to take her to Brandiston, and left that house never to enter it again, and never to look upon it without terror.
The author cannot help introducing at the close of this chapter an authenticated document, which has been sent to him from Reading, in Berkshire. It is the testimony of a man still living, who has never forgotten Margaret Catchpole: and the reader will say he had good reason to remember her. This man now lives in the service of Mr. John Snare, No. 16 Minster Street, Reading; and, since the publication of the former edition of this work, has made known to his master a providential escape which he had in his infancy, through the intrepidity of this extraordinary woman. Poor Margaret! it is with inexpressible pleasure that the author transcribes this tribute to her memory; for it proves to him, that whatever was the cause of her unsettled state of mind, her noble spirit was still as prompt to hear the cry of the helpless as in her days of confidence and comfort with her beloved mistress. The author is indebted to the Rev. John Connop, Bradfield Hall, Reading, for the original document, which he now gives to the public; and which he is happy to add, is fully confirmed by persons now living at Ipswich.
The Declaration of William White, of Reading, in Berkshire.
“My parents lived on St. Margaret’s Green, St. Margaret’s parish, Ipswich, about five doors from the house of John Cobbold, Esq. Margaret Catchpole was then living in Mr. Cobbold’s service as cook. About the middle of the spring of 1797, I, being then a child about six years of age, was playing on the Green with many of the neighbours’ children; and in the midst of our sport, a mad bull rushed most furiously towards us, directing his attack upon our little group to the precise spot where I stood. Paralysed by fear and surprise, I saw no hope of safety in flight, and must have fallen a victim to the assault of the infuriated beast, had not my companions set up a cry of alarm. At this critical moment, Margaret Catchpole rushed out of Mr. Cobbold’s house, to ascertain the cause of the disturbance, and had the courage to fly in the face of the bull, just as he was in the act of tossing me. Indeed I was slightly gored by him, and must inevitably have been severely injured, had not this courageous woman snatched me up, and carried me into Mr. Cobbold’s kitchen, taking every care of me until my parents arrived.
“I was not seriously hurt, but I have been told that my bruises and scars did not disappear for several weeks; and during this time I was visited by Margaret Catchpole and Mrs. Cobbold, who both took great notice of me, and evinced great anxiety for my recovery.
“I remember that this courageous act of Margaret Catchpole’s was much talked of at the time, and the Rev. Mr. Fonnereau, the rector of St. Margaret’s, took much interest in the affair; so much, indeed, did he think of it, that on my marriage in 1817, he, being still the rector, and performing the ceremony, reminded me of the extraordinary circumstance which had occurred in my childhood, and of my providential escape from an early grave.
“My uncle, Samuel Bayley (my mother’s brother), was cooper and brewer to J. Cobbold, Esq., being in his employment at the Cliff Brewery, near Ipswich, at the time the above occurred.
"William White.
“Reading, February 18th, 1847.”