Sir Everard was becoming hard pressed, and raising one finger, he replied, "I will not adventure so much in hope thereof."
Distressed and anxious, Father Gerard then said--"I pray G.o.d you follow counsel in your doings. If there be any matter in hand, doth Mr Walley know of it?" Walley was the name by which Father Garnet, the Provincial of the Jesuits, was spoken of at that time.
Digby"s answer was a curious one, unless Catesby had not told him the name of the particular Jesuit whose approval he pretended to have obtained. "In truth, I think he doth not."
Then, said Father Gerard, "In truth, Sir Everard Digby, if there should be anything in hand, and that you retire yourself and company into Warwickshire, as into a place of most safety, I should think you did not perform the part of a friend to some of your neighbours not far off, and persons that, as you know, deserve every respect, and to whom you have professed much friendship, that they are left behind, and have not any warning to make so much provision for their own safety as were needful in such a time, but to defend themselves from rogues."
Sir Everard, who must have sincerely wished that his friend had stayed away, replied--"I warrant you it shall not need."
At this a.s.surance Father Gerard felt rather more satisfied, and shortly afterwards he rode away, much to the relief of his host, who at any other time would have pressed him to remain as his guest.
Sir Everard stayed at home over the Sunday--whether he rode to some other Catholic"s house to hear Ma.s.s on that day does not appear--and on the Monday[248] he started for Dunchurch, accompanied by his page, William Ellis, Richard Day, "his receaver," and five servants.
[248] S. P. Gunpowder Plot Book, Part I. No. 108.
He can scarcely have left Gothurst in the best of spirits, as he must have reflected that, for the first time, he had prevaricated and dissembled, if not actually lied, to the man he considered his best friend, the very priest who had received him into the Church; that he had parted with him on a far from satisfactory footing, and that he had been obliged to send him away from his house without saying Ma.s.s on a day of such importance to all good Catholics as that devoted to the memory of and intercession for the dead.
Besides these, he had other good reasons for depression as he rode away from his beautiful home; he must have known that, at best, he was starting upon a very perilous enterprise; whether it succeeded or failed, many of his party might fall on the field in prosecuting it, if nothing worse happened to them; and it may be that, as he caught a last glimpse of Gothurst in the distance, the thought occurred to his mind that he would never see it again.
The journey and his plans, however, would soon distract his thoughts.
The plot itself, too, would occupy his mind above all other subjects. In each of the conspirators it seems to have produced a sort of intoxication. Stow says that,[249] "being drunke with the same folly,"
Sir Everard Digby "went to the appointed hunting at Don-church."
[249] Stow"s _Annales_, p. 879.
Then there were his arms and his followers to be thought of and looked after. It is difficult in these days to realise that, some three hundred years ago, the servants, retainers, and to some extent the tenants, of large landowners were expected to fight when required by their lords.
It is true that the feudal system had then almost ceased to exist; but although va.s.salage had been considerably limited more than a hundred years earlier by Henry VII., it was not abolished by statute until more than fifty years after the time of which I am writing.
To carry ourselves back to that period, we have to imagine our gardeners, under-gardeners, grooms, stable-helpers, gamekeepers, and perhaps footmen, strapping on broad-swords, carrying pikes, putting on such armour as could be provided, and going forth to possible battle, some on foot, and some mounted on hacks, coach-horses, cart-horses, and ponies, not a few of which would be taken up from gra.s.s for the purpose.
In this particular instance, the motley troop, with the exception of the seven men accompanying Sir Everard, had been already sent on, ostensibly to a.s.sist at the coursing and, perhaps, hawking, which was to take place at Dunchurch, while some of them were to attend to the wants of the guests. As to Sir Everard"s own journey, most of his attendants rode; but one of them, Richard Hollis, the under-cook, walked, leading the "truncke-horse," on which his master"s personal clothing was slung.[250]
This trunk, wrote Sir Everard,[251] "had in it cloathes of mine, as, a white Sattin Dublet cut with purple, a Jerkin and Hoase of De-roy colour sattin, laid very thicke with Gold-lace, there were other garments in it of mine, with a new black Winter Gown of my wife"s, there was also in the trunk 300 in money."
[250] S. P. Dom. James I., Vol. xvii.; G. P. Book, Part II. n. 138.
[251] Sir E. Digby"s Letters, p. 172.
On reaching Dunchurch, Sir Everard took his supper alone,[252] and it is not likely that his reflections as he did so were of the calmest or the happiest.
[252] S. P. Gunpowder Plot Book, Part I. No. 108.
Now that it takes considerably less than a couple of hours to travel from London to Rugby, it seems curious that no news of the difficulties of the conspirators at White Webbs should have reached those at Dunchurch; but it would have been dangerous in the extreme to have sent a letter describing them, and neither of the princ.i.p.als concerned wished to go far from London until they had seen what would happen.
Their anxiety on Wednesday, the 30th of October, had been increased by Tresham"s eagerness in urging Catesby to give up the plot, which he said was discovered, and to leave England, promising that he should always "live upon his purse";[253] and by his imploring Winter to begone, on Sat.u.r.day, the 2nd of November. On the Sat.u.r.day or the Sunday, Winter again met Tresham in Lincoln"s Inn Walks, when the latter declared that they were all lost men, unless they saved themselves by instant flight.
Through another source, Catesby and Winter learned, on the Sunday, that the letter of warning which had been received by Lord Mounteagle had been shown to the king, who considered the matter of the highest importance, but enjoined the strictest secrecy. The leading conspirators, therefore, were in a state of great consternation on the Sunday, two days before the explosion was to take place. Of all this, however, Sir Everard Digby knew nothing.
[253] Tresham"s Declaration, Nov. 13. S.P.O. Jardine"s G. P., 93.
Either late on the Monday night, or early on the Tuesday morning, several of Sir Everard"s friends a.s.sembled at the Inn[254] where he was staying, at Dunchurch; among these were Throckmorton,[255] Sir Robert Digby of Coleshill, James Digby, George Digby, Stephen Littleton and Humphrey Littleton. On the Tuesday morning,[256] ma.s.s was said by Father Hart, a Jesuit, who had been a secular priest, and had been introduced to Fathers of the Society of Jesus by Father Strange,[257] Sir Everard Digby"s own chaplain. The party, after breakfast, hunted or coursed, so that, although the "hunting-match" was a mere cover for other designs, it actually took place for one day.
[254] S. P. Gunpowder Plot Book, Part II. No. 121.
[255] S. P. Gunpowder Plot Book, Part I. No. 108.
[256] _Cal. Sta. Pa._, 1603-10, p. 263.
[257] _Records of the Eng. Prov. S. J._, Series I. p. 169.
It seems that Sir Everard took opportunities of confiding to his friends the news that a scheme was on foot for a.s.serting the rights of Catholics; that active measures of some sort were to be taken on their behalf immediately in London, probably on the following day, and that very possibly the sportsmen a.s.sembled at Dunchurch might receive a message, summoning them to arms about Thursday or Friday; to some he told more, and to some less, according to their dispositions and the spirit in which they received his information.
The sportsmen naturally conversed together upon the intelligence they had received, although a few of the more enlightened were to some extent tongue-tied, and the whole party gradually became in an anxious and excited state.[258] This was especially the case when they all met together at supper at the inn after hunting, and more particularly as they talked in groups over their tankards when supper was finished.
[258] Jardine, p. 108.
Sir Everard Digby, his relative, Sir Robert Digby, and one of the Littletons, withdrew from the rest of the party to play cards[259]
together in a room by themselves.
[259] S. P. Dom. James I., Nov. 1605, Vol. xvi. No. 94.
A little distraction must have been very desirable for Sir Everard"s mind in its state of tension. As we know, he was usually an excellent card-player, but we may doubt whether he played his best on this occasion. He believed that the horrible catastrophe was either at that moment taking place, had just taken place, or was to take place immediately. Perhaps, as he sat quietly playing cards, numbers of men whom he had known personally, or at least by sight, had just been put to a horrible death, among them his king, who had knighted him. The poor princes, innocent boys, might be lying beside him, dead also, crushed and mangled. Many among the slain would be almost as innocent, so far as any desire to injure the Catholics was concerned. Of course, Digby had made up his mind that the explosion was a necessary and even a heroic undertaking; but, if bloodguiltiness there were in it, he could not help knowing that it rested on his own head. Can one help imagining that, while he played cards, he must have devoutly wished, now that it was too late, that he could prevent such a fearful slaughter, or that he had never heard of or conspired in the plot? Let us hope that the game of cards diverted such thoughts; yet who could blame him if, with such matters on his mind, he forgot to follow suit?
At any rate, while he shuffled the cards, grim realities would be apt to present themselves to his memory. When would he hear of the great event?
It would only take place that afternoon or evening at soonest. Dunchurch was about eighty miles from London. Catesby would hardly despatch a messenger until he had something definite to relate as to the result of the catastrophe upon the minds of the populace, the officials, and the army; so it might be almost another twenty-four hours before Digby could receive the news; yet such an appalling ma.s.sacre would be talked about, right and left, and the intelligence would be pa.s.sed on from one place to another very rapidly; it was possible, therefore, that tidings--most likely meagre, exaggerated, and untrustworthy tidings--might reach Dunchurch, in some form or other, on the following morning. As the day wore on they might, perhaps, see Rookwood himself, or one of his servants entrusted with a letter, for he had placed relays of horses on the road between London and Dunchurch.[260] Or Percy or Christopher Wright might appear, as Sir Everard had sent a servant with a couple of horses to meet them at Hockliffe.[261]
[260] Jardine, p. 105.
[261] _Ib._, p. 106, footnote.
But it was useless to disturb the mind as to the particular moment at which the news could arrive; possibly there was not at present any to send; therefore it would be wisest, Sir Everard might tell himself, to divert his mind with his game, to go early to bed, and get a good night"s rest, so as to be fresh and ready for whatever might happen on the following day.
Suddenly there was a sound without of many and hurried footsteps; the door opened, and in rushed Catesby, Percy, John Wright, Christopher Wright, Rookwood, and Winter, mud-bespattered, heavily armed, and with grave faces. Acton and Grant came in after them.
It was clear, at a glance, that something was wrong; and Sir Everard looked eagerly to Catesby for information. Instead of speaking, Catesby took him by the arm and led him out of the room, saying nothing until he had found an empty chamber, which they both entered alone.
Exactly what was said to Sir Everard by Catesby can never be known; but what he had to tell him, if he chose to do so, was much as follows.
On the evening, or late in the afternoon, of the previous day (Monday, November 4th), Catesby, Rookwood, John and Christopher Wright, Thomas Winter, Percy, and Keyes, who formed the band of conspirators in and about London, received notice from Fawkes that the cellar in which their gunpowder was laid had just been visited by the Lord Chamberlain--the already mentioned Earl of Suffolk, and Lord Mounteagle. Catesby and John Wright immediately fled, and started for Dunchurch. Christopher Wright, Rookwood, Keyes, Winter, and Percy waited in London to observe what would happen. They hung about during the night, and at about four or five o"clock in the morning[262] they discovered that Fawkes had been arrested. Then Christopher Wright and Percy started for Dunchurch.
[262] _Somer"s Tracts_, Vol. ii. p. 105.
Only Rookwood, Winter, and Keyes now remained. They were staying in the same lodging, and they determined to wait and see what the morning would bring forth.[263] On going out early, they found the populace in a state of great consternation and terror.[264] "The news of Fawkes"s apprehension, and exaggerated rumours of a frightful plot discovered, were spread in every direction." Guards and soldiers protected all the streets and roads leading to the palace, and no one, excepting officials, was permitted to pa.s.s them. The whole town was in a state of excitement. Keyes sprang on his horse and galloped after the other fugitives; but Rookwood, who had taken care to place relays of horses along the road to Dunchurch, remained longer, in order to carry the latest news to his fellow-conspirators in Warwickshire. At ten[265]
o"clock it became evident that it would be dangerous to delay an instant longer, so he also mounted his horse and galloped away.
[263] A man named Tatnell deposed that "he met 2 gentlemen that morning near Lincoln"s Inn, and one said, "G.o.d"s woundes! we are wonderfully besett, and all ys marred."" S. P. Dom. James I., Vol.
xvi.; G. P. Bk., No. 11.
[264] Jardine, p. 105.
[265] S. P. Dom. James I., Vol. xvii. n. 9. See also Vol. xvi. Nos.