Just as she alighted on the earth St. Clement’s chimes played for twelve o’clock. It was a gently sloping bank from the wall, and a dry fosse, which she crossed, easily climbed over the low wooden palings against the road, and made her way for the lane against St. Helen’s church. There she found Will Laud in readiness to receive her, which he did with an ardour and devotion that told he was sincere.
They fled to an empty cart-shed on the Woodbridge road. Here Laud kept watch at the entrance whilst Margaret put on her sailor’s dress. She soon made her appearance on the road with her white trousers, hat, and blue jacket, looking completely like a British tar. They did not wait to be overtaken, but off they started for Woodbridge, and arrived at the ferry just as the dawning streaks of daylight began to tinge the east. Their intention was to cross the Sutton Walks and Hollesley Heath to Sudbourn. Unluckily for them, however, who should they meet at the ferry but old Robinson Crusoe, the fisherman, who, having been driven round the point at Felixstowe, was compelled to come up the Deben to Woodbridge for the sale of his fish. The old man gave them no sign of recognition, but he knew them both, and, with a tact that few possessed, saw how the wind blew. But without speaking to either of them, he proceeded with his basket to the town.
At this they both rejoiced, and as they took their journey across that barren tract of land, it seemed to them like traversing a flowery mead.
[CHAPTER XXVI
PURSUIT AND CAPTURE]
The morning after Margaret’s escape the turnkey was alarmed by the call of the gardener, who came early to the prison to prune some trees in the governor’s garden. He told the turnkey there was a rope hanging down the wall, as if some one had escaped during the night. They soon discovered the frame against the wall; footmarks along the beds, and the linen crotch, all told the same tale. The turnkey then ran to the men’s cells, and found them all bolted. He did the same to the women’s, and found them likewise fastened just as he left them the night before. He then examined every window. Not a bar was moved. He did this without speaking a word to any one. At the usual hour he called up the prisoners, and marched them out of their cells. Margaret’s was the last, at the end of the passage. When he opened it, no one answered his summons. He walked in; no one was there. The bed had not been slept in, and was without sheets. He then made Mrs. Ripshaw acquainted with the facts. Astonishment and alarm were depicted upon her countenance. Her husband’s absence made the circumstance the more distressing.
Search was made in every part of the gaol, but no trace of Margaret could be found. The women with whom she washed the day previously all declared that they knew nothing of her escape. They declared that they saw her go before them to the farther end of the passage to her own cell. But how could she escape and lock the door? The turnkey was quite sure he had secured her in her own cell, for that he went into the one adjoining after he had, as he supposed, locked her up in hers. It came out, however, in the course of inquiry, that he remembered her asking him about the horses not being set out for the wash; and the women declared that Margaret had been very peremptory about not giving the signal before eight o’clock. These things seemed to indicate a design to escape, and carried some suspicion of the fact.
Mrs. Ripshaw, however, was not satisfied, but sent a swift messenger on horseback to Bury St. Edmunds, with a note to acquaint her husband with the circumstances. Mrs. Ripshaw also wrote to Mrs. Cobbold in the greatest agitation, begging of her, if she knew where she was, to give information of it, as her husband and two sureties were bound, under a penalty of five hundred pounds each, to answer for the escape of any prisoner [from the gaol]. Such a stir was created in the town of Ipswich by this event as was scarcely ever before witnessed. People flocked to the gaol to see the spot whence Peggy had made her escape, and many were the reports falsely circulated concerning her.
It is not easy to describe the grief and consternation which was truly felt by Margaret’s dearest and best friend. She knew the consequences of this rash act; that, if she was taken, it was death, without any hope of reprieve.