Much time had been lost on the Thursday afternoon, in going hither and thither, on either side of the route, in the vain hope of persuading the Catholic knights and squires, who lived in the neighbourhood, to join the insurgents; even after dark Digby and his allies continued these fruitless endeavours, in defiance of the band of horsemen that was dogging their footsteps at some distance in the rear; and it was nearly ten o’clock at night[318] before the rapidly diminishing and draggled party reached its destination at Holbeche House, the home of Stephen Littleton.
Holbeche was a large and handsome Elizabethan mansion[319] standing a little way over the South Border of Staffordshire; about four miles to the north of Stourbridge, and a trifle less to the West of Dudley, on what are now the outskirts of the great coal and iron district known as the “black country.”It was a relief to find a resting-place of any sort; and, if the sensations of the conspirators and their followers had much in common with wild beasts tracked to their lairs, or foxes run to ground, they were, at any rate, within walls which would afford them a temporary protection, and enable them to take a little of the rest and refreshment which they now so much required.
They had not, however, much leisure for repose. They may have learned that the ominous band of horsemen, which had persistently shadowed their progress, had consisted of Sir Richard Walsh, the Sheriff of Worcestershire, a number of country gentlemen who had rallied to his assistance, and a posse comitatus. Although no enemy was any longer in sight, they knew that their position had been ascertained, that spies were probably on the watch for any attempted movement on their part, and that they were to all intents and purposes besieged. Worn out as they were with fatigue and anxiety, they set to work, therefore, to prepare the house to withstand an assault,[320] and spent most of the night thus occupied; so they cannot have had much sleep.
At last Sir Everard Digby had completely lost heart. Worse still, he felt that he had been deceived. “He began to suspect that”the stories which Catesby and Percy had told him of the assistance which Talbot and the Littletons would bring, were not so much mistakes as untruths “devised to engage him in theyr desperate cases.”[321] During the night he still cherished the hope that some strong forces might come to their aid, a hope which he would hardly have entertained unless it had been encouraged by Catesby and the other conspirators; but when the day began to dawn and it was evident there were no “succors coming thyther,” he “discryed the falshood of it.”
Whether he informed Catesby of his determination to throw up the whole undertaking does not appear. He may have made the excuse of going away to try to raise men for their help, or of ascertaining whether there were any symptoms of an approaching attack from without. To proclaim himself a deserter from the cause to Catesby would have been to risk a dangerous interview, in which the clinking of swords or the crack of a pistol would be likely to be heard above the interchange of bitter words; and judging from Catesby’s and Winter’s intentions in a certain interview with Tresham, it was more than possible that a sudden stab with a dagger might have given a practical demonstration of Catesby’s opinion of renegades.
“About daie light,”[322] on the Friday morning, he sent his page, William Ellis, and another of his servants, named Michael Rapior, on before him, and presently followed them, accompanied by the rest of his men, with the deliberate intention “to have yealded him self,”and I cannot but suspect that he did so without telling Catesby.
He overtook Ellis and Rapior within a mile of Holbeche, and, telling his servants how desperate he believed their case to be, he made them all a present of their horses and whatever money belonging to him they happened to have upon them; he then freed them from his service and advised them to make their escape as best they could.[323] William Ellis and one other, however, “said they would never leave him, but against their will.”Sir Everard made up his mind to go to “Sir Foulk Greville”and surrender himself, and he began to ask everybody whom he met on the road the way to his house.[324] As Sir Fulke Greville[325] had already obtained Warwick Castle, and was probably living there, Sir Everard must have expected to have a long ride before him.
The three horsemen had been observed by some of the scouts who had been watching Holbeche House, and they gave the alarm to the body of men which had collected for the purpose of either attacking or hunting down the conspirators; the consequence was that Sir Everard, his page, and his servant had not proceeded more than a few miles when they heard shouts in the distance behind them, and on looking round, perceived that they were being pursued by that motley, but much-dreaded, force known as the “hue and cry.”
To say nothing of the indignity of being captured by a yelling mob, it would be infinitely more dangerous than a voluntary submission to some recognised authority; for this reason, Digby, with his two attendants, tried to escape, and, as they were riding three excellent horses, they had great hopes of succeeding in doing so.
Nor were these hopes altogether groundless; for, when they began to gallop, they soon widened the distance between themselves and their pursuers; but they observed that the peasants and wayfarers whom they passed turned round to stare at them, which showed that their route would be pointed out to the “hue-and-cry.”As Father Gerard says, “it was not possible for them to pass or go unknown, especially Sir Everard Digby, being so noted a man for his stature and personage, and withal so well appointed as he was.”[326] He thought it wisest, therefore, to go into a large wood, and to hide there until the “hue-and-cry” should have passed. In this fortune favoured them, for, on turning along a bye-path from the main track in the wood, they saw a dry pit, and down into this they rode.
They had not been very long concealed in it when they heard the distant thud of galloping horses, and every now and then the shouting of their riders. Nearer and nearer came the sounds, and, just as they grew loudest, to his great delight Digby heard them beginning to decrease in force, which showed that the galloping mob had passed his retreat and was going on an objectless errand.
Presently the sounds ceased altogether, and Sir Everard and his two companions were on the point of emerging from their ambush, when they fancied they heard the footsteps of two horses proceeding at a walk. A voice confirmed them in this opinion. Once more there was silence, and once again there were sounds of horses’ feet and men’s voices.
Suddenly a cry of “Here he is; here he is!”[327] showed that they were discovered. The baffled hunters had turned back to try to trace the hoof-marks of the fugitives’ horses on either side of the rough roadway through the wood, and the wet, muddy weather had enabled them to succeed in this attempt. In that moment of extreme peril, Sir Everard showed plenty of courage. “Here he is, indeed!”said he; “what then?”
Looking up, he saw about ten or twelve horsemen standing about the entrance to the pit; and believing that the main body of the “hue-and-cry”were scattered about the wood searching in different directions, he hoped to be able to force his way through the small group which he saw above; accordingly he “advanced his horse in the manner of curvetting (which he was expert in) and thought to have borne them over, and so to break from them.”
As the event proved, they were quite unprepared for the shock of his charge, and, thrown into confusion, they were unable to prevent him from forcing his way safely through their midst; but as soon as he had done so, he found himself surrounded by more than a hundred horsemen, trotting up from different directions. Perceiving that escape was now impossible, he “willingly yielded himself to the likeliest man of the company,”and was immediately made a prisoner.
Would it have been more becoming to have sold his life dearly and to have died on the field by shot, pike, or sword, than to have surrendered to that ill-mounted, ill-armed, and irregular band of squireens, yeomen, and tradesmen, with the certainty of the disgraceful gallows and the quartering hatchet before him? The reasons for his acting otherwise, given by Father Gerard, are at least logical. He had a desire, he says,[328] “to have some time before his death for his better preparation, and withal”he hoped “to have done some service to the Catholic cause by word, sith he saw he could not do it by the sword.”
I have been unable to find any details as to what befel Sir Everard between his arrest and his long, wearying, and humiliating ride of nearly a hundred and twenty miles to London. Bound a prisoner on his horse, and guarded by armed men on all sides, he would be an object of curiosity and derision in every town, village, and hamlet through which he passed. He would be taken through Warwickshire, which had been the scene of his fruitless attempt to raise an insurrection during the two previous days; probably, through many places well known in happier times in Northamptonshire; through yet more familiar localities in Buckinghamshire, where he had hitherto been hailed with raised hats and genial smiles; and even, perhaps, within a few miles of his beloved Gothurst itself. When he entered Middlesex, the nearer he came to London, the greater would be the angry demonstrations of hostility on the part of the crowds that turned out to see the traitor and conspirator as he was conducted towards the Tower to take his trial for high treason. There may have been a few sympathisers among the mob, such as the man who was heard to whisper that “It had been brave sport, yf it had gone forward”;[329] but such remarks would not be made loud enough to reach the ears of Digby.
The shame of that journey must have been intense to a man constituted like Sir Everard, and it may have been increased by the reflection that he had forsaken his friends, with the intention of surrendering himself; and that, although they had certainly deceived him, he was in some sense a deserter from their ranks, at the moment of their extremity, as well as a traitor to his king.
Unquestionably his greatest sorrow of all was to think of his wife and children at Coughton. The unfortunate Lady Digby had sent a servant, named James Garvey,[330] “in search of his master, when he was apprehended”; for “Sir Everard had horses at Coughton.”Although she would doubtless think it a comparatively minor matter, the rude fact was soon forced upon her that, if her husband were attainted of high treason, all his estates would be confiscated, and she presently learned that the lawyers were already wrangling over the technical question whether her own property at Gothurst, which was settled on Sir Everard and his children, would not have to go too. The Crown lawyers claimed that it would, and they issued a notice that no part of it, or its revenues, must be touched by Lady Digby, or anyone else, until after her husband’s trial. She was, therefore, immediately placed in a position of pecuniary embarrassment and want.
Although it is an oft-told tale, and does not directly concern the subject of my biography, my story might seem incomplete if I were to say nothing of those whom Sir Everard had left behind him, when he rode away from Holbeche.
According to Jardine, two of the company at Holbeche, besides Sir Everard, deserted that house on the Friday morning. One was the host, Stephen Littleton. It should be remembered that he had not been a sworn conspirator in the Gunpowder Plot, and that it would seem hard that he should bear the penalty of sheltering his friends who had been concerned in it. As a matter of fact, this was exactly what he had to do; for he was executed for this very offence and, curiously enough, another too good-natured man, of the name of Perkises, was executed in his turn for sheltering him. The other fugitive was Robert Winter, who was afterwards captured and executed.
Sir Everard and his men had not long left Holbeche, when Catesby, Rookwood, and Grant endeavoured to dry some of the gunpowder from Whewell, which had got “dank”in the open cart on its journey the previous afternoon, upon a platter over a large fire. As might have been expected, it ignited and exploded, severely burning several of them.
Even Catesby now lost heart, expressed his fears that God disapproved of their proceedings,[331] and said that here he meant to remain and die. The other conspirators said they would do the same, and they seem now, for the first time, to some extent, to have realised the enormity of their sin. They perceived “God to be against them; all prayed before the picture of Our Lady, and confessed that the act was so bloody as they desired God to forgive them.” Then, says Father Gerard,[332] “They all fell earnestly to their prayers, the Litanies and such like (as some of the company affirmed that escaped taking, being none of the conspirators, but such as joined with them in the country); they also spent an hour in meditation.” It is satisfactory to know that they showed some contrition for their terrible iniquity and tried to make their peace with God; and, being Catholics, they would know what to do to this end.
At eleven o’clock, the High Sheriff appeared with a large force and surrounded the house. Thomas Winter went out into the court-yard and was shot in the shoulder by an arrow from a cross-bow, just as Catesby, who followed him, exclaimed, “Stand by me, Tom, and we will die together.”The two brothers, John and Christopher Wright, followed him, and both were mortally wounded. Rookwood, who had been severely burned by the explosion of gunpowder, was shot through the arm by a bullet from a musket and wounded in the body by a pike. Catesby and Percy stood back to back and were both shot through the body. Catesby died shortly afterwards in the house, after declaring “that the plot and practice of this treason was only his, and that all others were but his assistants, chosen by himself to that purpose, and that the honour thereof belonged only to himself.” Percy died the next day.
As soon as Catesby and Percy had fallen, the attacking party rushed into the court-yard, overpowered the feeble resistance offered to them, and made prisoners of the whole party.
The besiegers of Holbeche House were little more orderly than the hue and cry which had chased Sir Everard Digby. Sir Thos. Lawley, who was assisting the Sheriff of Worcestershire, wrote afterward to Salisbury[333]:—“I hasted to revive Catesby and Percy and the two Wrights, who lay deadly wounded on the ground, thinking by the recovery of them to have done unto his Majesty better service than by suffering them to die. But such was the extreme disorder of the baser sort, that while I with my men took up one of the languishing traitors, the rude people stripped the rest naked; and their wounds being many and grievous, and no surgeon at hand, they became incurable and so died.”
In a very short time, Sir Everard Digby, Rookwood, Thomas Winter, John Grant, Robert Keyes, Francis and Tresham were all safely lodged in the Tower, besides the earliest conspirator arrested—Guy Fawkes.
One of the first things that Sir Everard did after being brought to London was to beg as a special favour to be permitted to see the king[334]—a boon most unlikely to be granted—“intending to lay down the causes so plainly which had moved them to this attempt,” namely the Gunpowder Plot, “and withal how dangerous it was for His Majesty to take the course he did, as that he hoped to persuade at least some mitigation, if not toleration, for Catholics.”Of course he was informed that no such favour would be shown him; but that he would very shortly be examined by the Lords of the Council, when an opportunity would be given to him of making a statement.
The news of the popular indignation at the Gunpowder Plot must have added greatly to Digby’s sorrows. On Sunday, November 10th,[335] “a solemn thanksgiving was offered in all the churches.”He would hear, too, that on the night of the very day that the explosion was to have taken place, church-bells were ringing, and bonfires were blazing in all directions as a testimony of the public rejoicing at the failure of the plot.[336] Even[337] “the Spanish Ambassador made bonfires, and threw money amongst the people.”
More galling still was the ever-increasing evidence of the horror of the English Catholics and their angry disclaimers of having had anything to do with, or any sympathy for, such a nefarious scheme.
“If, after the discovery,”says Tierney,[338] “the pope himself abstained from issuing a formal condemnation of the conspiracy, Blackwell, at least, his delegate and representative in England, instantly came forward to stigmatize it as a ‘detestable device,’ an ‘intolerable, uncharitable, scandalous, and desperate fact.’ No sooner had the proclamation for the apprehension of the conspirators announced the intelligence that Catholics were implicated in it, than he addressed a letter to the clergy and laity of his flock (Nov. 7), reminding them of the criminality of all forcible attempts against the government, and exhorting them to manifest their respect for the decisions of the church, the clergy by inculcating, the laity by practising, that patient submission to the laws, which alone could ‘please God, mollify man, and increase their merits and their glory in the world to come.’”Reports of this letter would be received by Sir Everard on his arrival in London.
The Archpriest’s manifesto was most opportune; for about the time he was writing it, Ben Jonson, the poet, who had been a Catholic for seven years,[339] was writing to Salisbury that some say they must consult the Archpriest; but that he, Ben Jonson, thinks[340] “they are all so enweaved in it as it will make 500 gent. lesse of the religion within this weeke.”He also got up in the Council Chamber at Whitehall,[341] denounced the plot on behalf of the Catholics of England, and offered his services in hunting down the gang of miscreants that had brought this discredit on his Church.
“Three weeks later,”continues Tierney, the Archpriest “repeated his admonition in still stronger terms. He reminded his people of his former letter, assured them that ‘no violent attempt against the king or his government could be other than a most grievous and heinous offence to God’; and concluded by declaring that, as the pope had already condemned all such unlawful proceedings, so he, by the authority of the pope, now strictly forbad Catholics, under pain of ecclesiastical censures, ‘to attempt any practise or action, tending to the prejudice’ of the throne, or to behave themselves in any manner but such ‘as became dutiful subjects and religious Catholics, to their king, his counsellors, and officers.’”
With a copy of the first of these two letters[342] before me, I am struck by one sentence which lays down a golden rule concerning political plots. “Moreover, our divines do say that it is not lawful for private subjects, by private authority, to take arms against their lawful king, albeit he become a tyrant.”
How bitterly Sir Everard Digby felt the disapproval of the Catholics may be judged from one of his letters to his wife, written in the Tower.[343] “But now let me tell you, what a grief it hath been to me, to hear that so much condemned which I did believe would have been otherwise thought on by Catholicks; there is no other cause but this, which hath made me desire life, for when I came into prison, death would have been a welcome friend unto me, and was most desired; but when I heard how Catholicks and Priests thought of the matter, and that it should be a great sin that should be in the Cause of my end, it called my conscience in doubt of my very best actions and intentions in question: for I knew that my self might easily be deceived in such a business, therefore I protest unto you that the doubts I had of my own good state, which only proceeded from the censure of others, caused more bitterness of grief in me than all the miseries that ever I suffered, and only this caused me wish life till I might meet with a ghostly friend. For some good space I could do nothing, but with tears ask pardon at God’s hands for all my errors, both in actions and intentions in this business, and in my whole life, which the censure of this, contrary to my expectance, caused me to doubt; I did humbly beseech that my death, might satisfie for my offence, which I should and shall offer most gladly to the Giver of Life. I assure you as I hope in God that the love of all my estate and worldly happiness did never trouble me, nor the love of it since my imprisonment did ever move me to wish life. But if that I may live to make satisfaction to God and the world, where I have given any scandal, I shall not grieve if I should never look Living Creature in the face again, and besides that deprivation endure all worldly misery.”[344]
Sir Everard was examined in the Tower several times; first, on two successive days, November 19th and 20th, he was questioned at some length, before Nottingham, Suffolk, Devonshire, Northampton, Salisbury, Mar, Dunbar, and Coke. A good deal of his evidence has already been quoted. On the first day, he only admitted that Catesby[345] “did comfort him with future hopes and told him that he doubted not but there would be a course effected for theyr good,” and that it was not until Tuesday, the 5th of November, that “Mr Catesbie acquainted him with the practice of ye treason of ye blowing up the Parlamt. howse,” when he “gave him some inkling what had bin the plott of undermining the Parlament howse, to blow it up; and on Wednesday told him more at large &c.,”naming “who had bin the miners.”
On the following day, however, “he beinge shewed by the Ls his follye and faulte in denyinge that wch was so manyfest and beinge toulde that both Tho. Wynter had speach wh him of the pticulars, concerninge the plot of the powder to blow upp the K. in the Parliament house, and being confronted wth Mr Faucks who charged him to have discoursed wth him thereof abowte a weeke before the 5th of November at his house in Buck.shyer,”he confessed more freely. Fawkes had been tortured,[346] and most likely, when he charged Sir Everard in this way, he did it in order to escape being tortured again. So many of the conspirators were now known by the others to be in the Tower, and each was so much afraid of what the others might have confessed, that they became terrified and confessed freely when examined. Neither of them knew which of his companions had been tortured in order to induce him to incriminate his friends; and each feared that he might, at any moment, be himself laid upon the rack.
