“I would not be ungrateful, sir, though I may now appear, as I am, so unhappy. I will try by prayer to conquer the prejudice you speak of. I do suffer such extreme horror in my mind from my view of the future, that there is no rest for me by night or day. I see nothing but chains and darkness. I think sometimes of the long, long journey from my native land, of the dangers of the sea, of the companions with whom I may be mixed. I start sometimes in my dreams, and fancy a great shark dashing at me in the waters. Another time I see the native cannibals ready to devour me. Then I think of home, of you, sir, of dear Dr. Stebbing, of my uncle and aunt, and of my dearest mistress, and I find my prison-pillow is wet with my nightly tears.”
The tears started in more eyes than her own, as she spoke, in her touching simplicity, of these acute feelings. She suffered intensely; and it took many months of rational and devout conversation, on the part of both her mistress and this worthy man, to eradicate those bitter seeds of despair, and to sow those of cheerfulness and hope. After directing Margaret’s mind to Christian duties, the chaplain and the judge left her cell. They conversed some time upon her state of mind and future prospects. The judge declared that he thought her one of the most sensitive persons he had ever seen, with a mind capable of the highest cultivation. He left five guineas with the chaplain to be laid out for her benefit. He stated that she would not, in all probability, leave England till the next summer, and hoped to hear a better account of her some future day. Margaret was not informed of the person who had visited her that day with the chaplain, until she had learned to look upon him and herself in a very different light.
The Lord Chief Baron visited all the cells of the prison, and expressed his approbation of the cleanliness and neatness of the whole place. As he was going away, he told the turnkey that he was the very judge who had tried the female prisoner for breaking out of gaol. The reader may imagine how frightened the poor fellow was at his late boldness of speech. The judge observed his embarrassment, and told him that he had spoken nothing improper; that he had done his duty, and deserved his thanks.
“You may tell your master,” he added, “that I am so well satisfied with the appearance of all things under his care, that when I return to town I shall not fail to give a favourable report of the state of the gaol and of his discipline.” He made the turnkey a present, and left the gaol.
It was not until May, 1801, that Margaret Catchpole was informed of the day of her departure for Botany Bay. She had been instructed in many things relating to the country to which she was going, and her kind mistress had purchased an assortment of useful articles for her future employment. Her mind had been gradually divested of its miserable horrors, and became fortified for the occasion. It will be seen, however, that as the near approach of the day came, she dreaded and lamented it bitterly. On the 25th of May, 1801, Mrs. Cobbold received the following note from her:—
"Ipswich Gaol, May 25th, 1801.
“Dear and Honoured Madam,
“I am sorry to have to inform you of the bad news. I am going away on Wednesday next, or Thursday at the latest, so I have taken the liberty of troubling you with these few lines. It will be the last time I shall ever trouble you from this place of sorrowful, yet, comparatively with the future, blessed captivity. My grief is very great, now that I am really on the eve of banishment from my own country and from all my dearest friends for ever. It was hard for me ever to think of it. Oh! what must it be to endure it! Honoured madam, it would give me some happiness to see you once more, on the Tuesday previous to my leaving England for ever, if you will not think this request of mine too troublesome. I know your kind heart. I would spare you any anxiety about so unworthy a person as myself, but I must entreat your goodness to consider me in this my severest misery. Have pity upon me! Oh! do come! Only let me see your dear face once more, and it will ever be a comfort and satisfaction to your poor unhappy servant,
"Margaret Catchpole.
“To Mrs. Cobbold, Cliff, Ipswich."