together, lowered the lantern to the prisoner, and without waiting to
receive his thanks, hurried away.
Thus aided, Guy Fawkes defended himself as well as he could against his
loathsome assailants. The light showed that the water was swarming with
them--that they were creeping by hundreds up the sides of the pit, and
preparing to make a general attack upon him.
At one time, Fawkes determined not to oppose them, but to let them work
their will upon him; but the contact of the noxious animals made him
change his resolution, and he instinctively drove them off. They were
not, however, to be easily repulsed, and returned to the charge with
greater fury than before. The desire of self preservation now got the
better of every other feeling, and the dread of being devoured alive
giving new vigour to his crippled limbs, he rushed to the other side of
the pit. His persecutors, however, followed him in myriads, springing
upon him, and making their sharp teeth meet in his flesh in a thousand
places.
In this way the contest continued for some time, Guy Fawkes speeding
round the pit, and his assailants never for one moment relaxing in the
pursuit, until he fell from exhaustion, and his lantern being
extinguished, the whole host darted upon him.
Thinking all over, he could not repress a loud cry, and it was scarcely
uttered, when lights appeared, and several gloomy figures bearing
torches were seen at the edge of the pit. Among these he distinguished
Sir William Waad, who offered instantly to release him if he would
confess.
"I will rather perish," replied Fawkes, "and I will make no further
effort to defend myself. I shall soon be out of the reach of your
malice."
"This must not be," observed the lieutenant to Jasper Ipgreve, who stood
by. "The Earl of Salisbury will never forgive me if he perishes."
"Then not a moment must be lost, or those ravenous brutes will assuredly
devour him," replied Ipgreve. "They are so fierce, that I scarcely like
to venture among them."
A ladder was then let down into the pit, and the jailer and the two
officials descended. They were just in time. Fawkes had ceased to
struggle, and the rats were attacking him with such fury that his words
would have been speedily verified, but for Ipgreve's timely
interposition.
On being taken out of the pit, he fainted from exhaustion and loss of
blood; and when he came to himself, found he was stretched upon a couch
in the torture-chamber, with the chirurgeon and Jasper Ipgreve in
attendance. Strong broths and other restoratives were then administered;
and his strength being sufficiently restored to enable him to converse,
the lieutenant again visited him, and questioning him as before,
received a similar answer.
In the course of that day and the next, he underwent at intervals
various kinds of torture, each more excruciating than the preceding, all
of which he bore with unabated fortitude. Among other applications, the
rack was employed with such rigour, that his joints started from their
sockets, and his frame seemed torn asunder.
On the fourth day he was removed to another and yet gloomier chamber,
devoted to the same dreadful objects as the first. It had an arched
stone ceiling, and at the further extremity yawned a deep recess. Within
this there was a small furnace, in which fuel was placed, ready to be
kindled; and over the furnace lay a large black flag, at either end of
which were stout leathern straps. After being subjected to the customary
interrogations of the lieutenant, Fawkes was stripped of his attire, and
bound to the flag. The fire was then lighted, and the stone gradually
heated. The writhing frame of the miserable man ere long showed the
extremity of his suffering; but as he did not even utter a groan, his
tormentors were compelled to release him.
On this occasion, there were two personages present who had never
attended any previous interrogation. They were wrapped in large cloaks,
and stood aloof during the proceedings. Both were treated with the most
ceremonious respect by Sir William Waad, who consulted them as to the
extent to which he should continue the torture. When the prisoner was
taken off the heated stone, one of those persons advanced towards him,
and gazed curiously at him.
Fawkes, upon whose brow thick drops were standing, and who was sinking
into the oblivion brought on by overwrought endurance, exclaimed, "It is
the King;" and fainted.
"The traitor knew your Majesty," said the lieutenant. "But you see it is
in vain to attempt to extort anything from him."
"So it seems," replied James; "and I am greatly disappointed, for I was
led to believe that I should hear a full confession of the conspiracy
from his own lips. How say you, good Master chirurgeon, will he endure
further torture?"
"Not without danger of life, your Majesty, unless he has some days'
repose," replied the chirurgeon, "even if he can endure it then."
"It will not be necessary to apply it further," replied Salisbury. "I am
now in full possession of the names of all the principal conspirators;
and when the prisoner finds further concealment useless, he will change
his tone. To-morrow, the commissioners appointed by your Majesty for the
examination of all those concerned in this dreadful project, will
interrogate him in the lieutenant's lodgings, and I will answer with my
life that the result will be satisfactory."
"Enough," said James. "It has been a painful spectacle which we have
just witnessed, and yet we would not have missed it. The wretch
possesses undaunted resolution, and we can never be sufficiently
grateful to the beneficent Providence that prevented him from working
his ruthless purpose upon us. The day on which we were preserved from
this Gunpowder Treason shall ever hereafter be kept sacred in our
church, and thanks shall be returned to Heaven for our wonderful
deliverance."
"Your Majesty will act wisely," replied Salisbury. "The Ordinance will
impress the nation with a salutary horror of all Papists and
traitors,--for they are one and the same thing,--and keep alive a proper
feeling of enmity against them. Such a fearful example shall be made of
these miscreants as shall, it is to be hoped, deter all others from
following their cause. Not only shall they perish infamously, but their
names shall for ever be held in execration."
"Be it so," rejoined James. "It is a good legal maxim--_Crescente
malitia, crescere debuit et poena_."
Upon this, he left the chamber, and, traversing a number of subterranean
passages with his attendants, crossed the drawbridge near the Byward
Tower to the wharf, where his barge was waiting for him, and returned in
it to Whitehall.
At an early hour on the following day, the commissioners appointed to
the examination of the prisoner, met together in a large room on the
second floor of the lieutenant's lodgings, afterwards denominated, from
its use on this occasion, the Council Chamber. Affixed to the walls of
this room may be seen at the present day a piece of marble sculpture,
with an inscription commemorative of the event. The commissioners were
nine in number, and included the Earls of Salisbury, Northampton,
Nottingham, Suffolk, Worcester, Devon, Marr, and Dunbar, and Sir John
Popham, Lord Chief Justice. With these were associated Sir Edward Coke,
attorney-general, and Sir William Waad.
The apartment in which the examination took place is still a spacious
one, but at the period in question it was much larger and loftier. The
walls were panelled with dark lustrous oak, covered in some places with
tapestry, and adorned in others with paintings. Over the chimney-piece
hung a portrait of the late sovereign, Elizabeth. The commissioners were
grouped round a large heavily carved oak table, and, after some
deliberation together, it was agreed that the prisoner should be
introduced.
Sir William Waad then motioned to Topcliffe, who was in attendance with
half a dozen halberdiers, and a few moments afterwards a panel was
pushed aside, and Guy Fawkes was brought through it. He was supported by
Topcliffe and Ipgreve, and it was with the greatest difficulty he could
drag himself along. So severe had been the sufferings to which he had
been subjected, that they had done the work of time, and placed more
than twenty years on his head. His features were thin and sharp, and of
a ghastly whiteness, and his eyes hollow and bloodshot. A large cloak
was thrown over him, which partially concealed his shattered frame and
crippled limbs; but his bent shoulders, and the difficulty with which
he moved, told how much he had undergone.
On seeing the presence in which he stood, a flush for a moment rose to
his pallid cheek, his eye glowed with its wonted fire, and he tried to
stand erect--but his limbs refused their office--and the effort was so
painful, that he fell back into the arms of his attendants. He was thus
borne forward by them, and supported during his examination. The Earl of
Salisbury then addressed him, and enlarging on the magnitude and
horrible nature of his treason, concluded by saying that the only
reparation he could offer was to disclose not only all his own criminal
intentions, but the names of his associates.
"I will hide nothing concerning myself," replied Fawkes; "but I shall be
for ever silent respecting others."
The Earl then glanced at Sir Edward Coke, who proceeded to take down
minutes of the examination.
"You have hitherto falsely represented yourself," said the Earl. "What
is your real name?"
"Guy Fawkes," replied the prisoner.
"And do you confess your guilt?" pursued the Earl.
"I admit that it was my intention to blow up the King and the whole of
the lords spiritual and temporal assembled in the Parliament House with
gunpowder," replied Fawkes.
"And you placed the combustibles in the vault where they were
discovered?" demanded Salisbury.
The prisoner answered in the affirmative.
"You are a Papist?" continued the Earl.
"I am a member of the Church of Rome," returned Fawkes.
"And you regard this monstrous design as righteous and laudable--as
consistent with the religion you profess, and as likely to uphold it?"
said the Earl.
"I did so," replied Fawkes. "But I am now convinced that Heaven did not
approve it, and I lament that it was ever undertaken."
"Still, you refuse to make the only reparation in your power--you refuse
to disclose your associates?" said Salisbury.
"I cannot betray them," replied Fawkes.
"Traitor! it is needless," cried the Earl; "they are known to us--nay,
they have betrayed themselves. They have risen in open and armed
rebellion against the King; but a sufficient power has been sent against
them; and if they are not ere this defeated and captured, many days will
not elapse before they will be lodged in the Tower."
"If this is the case, you require no information from me," rejoined
Fawkes. "But I pray you name them to me."
"I will do so," replied Salisbury; "and if I have omitted you can supply
the deficiency. I will begin with Robert Catesby, the chief contriver of
this hell-engendered plot,--I will next proceed to the superior of the
Jesuits, Father Garnet,--next, to another Jesuit priest, Father
Oldcorne,--next, to Sir Everard Digby,--then, to Thomas Winter and
Robert Winter,--then, to John Wright and Christopher Wright,--then, to
Ambrose Rookwood, Thomas Percy, and John Grant, and lastly, to Robert
Keyes."
"Are these all?" demanded Fawkes.
"All we are acquainted with," said Salisbury.
"Then add to them the names of Francis Tresham, and of his
brother-in-law, Lord Mounteagle," rejoined Fawkes. "I charge both with
being privy to the plot."
"I have forgotten another name," said Salisbury, in some confusion,
"that of Viviana Radcliffe, of Ordsall Hall. I have received certain
information that she was wedded to you while you were resident at White
Webbs, near Epping Forest, and was cognisant of the plot. If captured,
she will share your fate."
Fawkes could not repress a groan.
Salisbury pursued his interrogations, but it was evident, from the
increasing feebleness of the prisoner, that he would sink under it if
the examination was further protracted. He was therefore ordered to
attach his signature to the minutes taken by Sir Edward Coke, and was
placed in a chair for that purpose. A pen was then given him, but for
some time his shattered fingers refused to grasp it. By a great effort,
and with acute pain, he succeeded in tracing his Christian name thus:--
[Illustration: "Guido"]
While endeavouring to write his surname, the pen fell from his hand, and
he became insensible.
CHAPTER II.
SHOWING THE TROUBLES OF VIVIANA.
On coming to herself, Viviana inquired for Garnet; and being told that
he was in his chamber alone, she repaired thither, and found him pacing
to and fro in the greatest perturbation.
"If you come to me for consolation, daughter," he said, "you come to one
who cannot offer it. I am completely prostrated in spirit by the
disastrous issue of our enterprise; and though I tried to prepare myself
for what has taken place, I now find myself utterly unable to cope with
it."
[Illustration: _Guy Fawkes subscribing his Examination after the
torture_]
"If such is your condition, father," replied Viviana, "what must be
that of my husband, upon whose devoted head all the weight of this
dreadful calamity now falls? You are still at liberty--still able to
save yourself--still able, at least, to resist unto the death, if you
are so minded. But he is a captive in the Tower, exposed to every
torment that human ingenuity can invent, and with nothing but the
prospect of a lingering death before his eyes. What is your condition,
compared with his?"
"Happy--most happy, daughter," replied Garnet, "and I have been selfish
and unreasonable. I have, given way to the weakness of humanity, and I
thank you from the bottom of my heart for enabling me to shake it off."
"You have indulged false hopes, father," said Viviana, "whereas I have
indulged none, or rather, all has come to pass as I desired. The
dreadful crime with which I feared my husband's soul would have been
loaded is now uncommitted, and I have firm hope of his salvation. If I
might counsel you, I would advise you to surrender yourself to justice,
and by pouring out your blood on the scaffold, wash out your offence.
Such will be my own course. I have been involuntarily led into connexion
with this plot; and though I have ever disapproved of it, since I have
not revealed it I am as guilty as if I had been its contriver. I shall
not shun my punishment. Fate has dealt hardly with me, and my path on
earth has been strewn with thorns, and cast in grief and trouble. But I
humbly trust that my portion hereafter will be with the blessed."
"I cannot doubt it, daughter," replied Garnet; "and though I do not view
our design in the light that you do, but regard it as justifiable, if
not necessary, yet, with your feelings, I cannot sufficiently admire
your conduct. Your devotion and self-sacrifice is wholly without
parallel. At the same time, I would try to dissuade you from
surrendering yourself to our relentless enemies. Believe me, it will add
the severest pang to your husband's torture to know that you are in
their power. His nature is stern and unyielding, and, persuaded as he is
of the justice of his cause, he will die happy in that conviction,
certain that his name, though despised by our heretical persecutors,
will be held in reverence by all true professors of our faith. No,
daughter, fly and conceal yourself till pursuit is relinquished, and
pass the rest of your life in prayer for the repose of your husband's
soul."
"I will pass it in endeavouring to bring him to repentance," replied
Viviana. "The sole boon I shall seek from my judges will be permission
to attempt this."
"It will be refused, daughter," replied Garnet, "and you will only
destroy yourself, not aid him. Rest satisfied that the Great Power who
judges the hearts of men, and implants certain impulses within them, for
his own wise but inscrutable purposes, well knows that Guy Fawkes,
however culpable his conduct may appear in your eyes, acted according to
the dictates of his conscience, and in the full confidence that the
design would restore the true worship of God in this kingdom. The
failure of the enterprise proves that he was mistaken--that we were all
mistaken,--and that Heaven was unfavourable to the means adopted,--but
it does not prove his insincerity."
"These arguments have no weight with me, father," replied Viviana; "I
will leave nothing undone to save his soul, and whatever may be the
result, I will surrender myself to justice."
"I shall not seek to move you from your purpose, daughter," replied
Garnet, "and can only lament it. Before, however, you finally decide,
let us pray together for directions from on high."
Thus exhorted, Viviana knelt down with the priest before a small silver
image of the Virgin, which stood in a niche in the wall, and they both
prayed long and earnestly. Garnet was the first to conclude his
devotions; and as he gazed at the upturned countenance and streaming
eyes of his companion, his heart was filled with admiration and pity.
At this juncture the door opened, and Catesby and Sir Everard Digby
entered. On hearing them, Viviana immediately arose.
"The urgency of our business must plead an excuse for the interruption,
if any is needed," said Catesby; "but do not retire, madam. We have no
secrets from you now. Sir Everard and I have fully completed our
preparations," he added, to Garnet. "Our men are all armed and mounted
in the court, and are in high spirits for the enterprise. As the
service, however, will be one of the greatest danger and difficulty, you
had better seek a safe asylum, father, till the first decisive blow is
struck."
"I would go with you, my son," rejoined Garnet, "if I did not think my
presence might be an hinderance. I can only aid you with my prayers, and
those can be more efficaciously uttered in some secure retreat, than
during a rapid march or dangerous encounter."
"You had better retire to Coughton with Lady Digby and Viviana," said
Sir Everard. "I have provided a sufficient escort to guard you
thither,--and, as you are aware, there are many hiding-places in the
house, where you can remain undiscovered in case of search."
"I place myself at your disposal," replied Garnet. "But Viviana is
resolved to surrender herself."
"This must not be," returned Catesby. "Such an act at this juncture
would be madness, and would materially injure our cause. Whatever your
inclinations may prompt, you must consent to remain in safety, madam."
"I have acquiesced in your proceedings thus far," replied Viviana,
"because I could not oppose them without injury to those dear to me. But
I will take no further share in them. My mind is made up as to the
course I shall pursue."
"Since you are bent upon your own destruction,--for it is nothing
less,--it is the duty of your friends to save you," rejoined Catesby.
"You shall not do what you propose, and when you are yourself again, and
have recovered from the shock your feelings have sustained, you will
thank me for my interference."
"You are right, Catesby," observed Sir Everard; "it would be worse than
insanity to allow her to destroy herself thus."
"I am glad you are of this opinion," said Garnet. "I tried to reason her
out of her design, but without avail."
"Catesby," cried Viviana, throwing herself at his feet, "by the love you
once professed for me,--by the friendship you entertained for him who
unhesitatingly offered himself for you, and your cause, I implore you
not to oppose me now!"
"I shall best serve you, and most act in accordance with the wishes of
my friend, by doing so," replied Catesby. "Therefore, you plead in
vain."
"Alas!" cried Viviana. "My purposes are ever thwarted. You will have to
answer for my life."
"I should, indeed, have it to answer for, if I permitted you to act as
you desire," rejoined Catesby. "I repeat you will thank me ere many days
are passed."
"Sir Everard," exclaimed Viviana, appealing to the knight, "I entreat
you to have pity upon me."
"I do sincerely sympathise with your distress," replied Digby, in a tone
of the deepest commiseration; "but I am sure what Catesby advises is for
the best. I could not reconcile it to my conscience to allow you to
sacrifice yourself thus. Be governed by prudence."
"Oh no----no!" cried Viviana, distractedly. "I will not be stayed. I
command you not to detain me."
"Viviana," said Catesby, taking her arm, "this is no season for the
display of silly weakness either on our part or yours. If you cannot
control yourself, you must be controlled. Father Garnet, I intrust her
to your care. Two of my troop shall attend you, together with your own
servant, Nicholas Owen. You shall have stout horses, able to accomplish
the journey with the greatest expedition, and I should wish you to
convey her to her own mansion, Ordsall Hall, and to remain there with
her till you hear tidings of us."
"It shall be as you direct, my son," said Garnet. "I am prepared to set
out at once."
"That is well," replied Catesby.
"You will not do me this violence, sir," cried Viviana. "I appeal
against it, to you, Sir Everard."
"I cannot help you, madam," replied the knight, "indeed, I cannot."
"Then Heaven, I trust, will help me," cried Viviana, "for I am wholly
abandoned of man."
"I beseech you, madam, put some constraint upon yourself," said Catesby.
"If, after your arrival at Ordsall, you are still bent upon your rash
and fatal design, Father Garnet shall not oppose its execution. But give
yourself time for reflection."
"Since it may not be otherwise, I assent," replied Viviana. "If I must
go, I will start at once."
"Wisely resolved," replied Sir Everard.
Viviana then retired, and soon afterwards appeared equipped for her
journey. The two attendants and Nicholas Owen were in the court-yard,
and Catesby assisted her into the saddle.
"Do not lose sight of her," he said to Garnet, as the latter mounted.
"Rest assured I will not," replied the other.
And taking the direction of Coventry, the party rode off at a brisk
pace.
Catesby then joined the other conspirators, while Sir Everard sent off
Lady Digby and his household, attended by a strong escort, to Coughton.
This done, the whole party repaired to the court-yard, where they called
over the muster-roll of their men, to ascertain that none were
missing,--examined their arms and ammunition,--and finding all in order,
sprang to their steeds, and putting themselves at the head of the band,
rode towards Southam and Warwick.
CHAPTER III.
HUDDINGTON.
About six o'clock in the morning the conspirators reached Leamington
Priors, at that time an inconsiderable village; and having ridden nearly
twenty miles over heavy and miry roads,--for a good deal of rain had
fallen in the night,--they stood in need of some refreshment.
Accordingly, they entered the first farm-yard they came to, and
proceeding to the cow-houses and sheepfolds, turned out the animals
within them, and fastening up their own steeds in their places, set
before them whatever provender they could find. Those, and they were by
far the greater number, who could not find better accommodation, fed
their horses in the yard, which was strewn with trusses of hay and great
heaps of corn. The whole scene formed a curious picture. Here was one
party driving away the sheep and cattle, which were bleating and
lowing,--there, another rifling a hen-roost, and slaughtering its
cackling inmates. On this hand, by the direction of Catesby, two stout
horses were being harnessed with ropes to a cart, which he intended to
use as a baggage-waggon; on that, Sir Everard Digby was interposing his
authority to prevent the destruction of a fine porker.
Their horses fed, the next care of the conspirators was to obtain
something for themselves: and ordering the master of the house, who was
terrified almost out of his senses, to open his doors, they entered the
dwelling, and causing a fire to be lighted in the chief room, began to
boil a large kettle of broth upon it, and to cook other provisions.
Finding a good store of eatables in the larder, rations were served out
to the band. Two casks of strong ale were likewise broached, and their
contents distributed; and a small keg of strong waters being also
discovered, it was disposed of in the same way.
This, however, was the extent of the mischief done. All the
conspirators, but chiefly Catesby and Sir Everard Digby, dispersed
themselves amongst the band, and checked any disposition to plunder. The
only articles taken away from the house were a couple of old rusty
swords and a caliver. Catesby proposed to the farmer to join their
expedition. But having now regained his courage, the sturdy churl
obstinately refused to stir a foot with them, and even ventured to utter
a wish that the enterprise might fail.
"I am a good Protestant, and a faithful subject of King James, and will
never abet Popery and treason," he said.
This bold sally would have been answered by a bullet from one of the
troopers, if Catesby had not interfered.
"You shall do as you please, friend," he said, in a conciliatory tone.
"We will not compel any man to act against his conscience, and we claim
the same right ourselves. Will you join us, good fellows?" he added, to
two farming men, who were standing near their master.
"Must I confess to a priest?" asked one of them.
"Certainly not," replied Catesby. "You shall have no constraint whatever
put upon you. All I require is obedience to my commands in the field."
"Then I am with you," replied the fellow.
"Thou'rt a traitor and rebel, Sam Morrell," cried the other hind, "and
wilt come to a traitor's end. I will never fight against King James. And
if I must take up arms, it shall be against his enemies, and in defence
of our religion. No priests,--no papistry for me."
"Well said, Hugh," cried his master; "we'll die in that cause, if need
be."
Catesby turned angrily away, and giving the word to his men to prepare
to set forth, in a few minutes all were in the saddle; but on inquiring
for the new recruit, Sam Morrell, it was found he had disappeared. The
cart was laden with arms, ammunition and a few sacks of corn; and the
line being formed, they commenced their march.
The morning was dark and misty, and all looked dull and dispiriting. The
conspirators, however, were full of confidence, and their men,
exhilarated and refreshed by their meal, appeared anxious for an
opportunity of distinguishing themselves. Arrived within half a mile of
Warwick, whence the lofty spire of the church of Saint Nicholas, the
tower of Saint Mary's, and the ancient gates of this beautiful old town
could just be discerned through the mist, a short consultation was held
by the rebel leaders as to the expediency of attacking the castle, and
carrying off the horses with which they had learnt its stables were
filled.
Deciding upon making the attempt, their resolution was communicated to
their followers, and received with loud acclamations. Catesby then put
himself at the head of the band, and they all rode forward at a brisk
pace. Crossing the bridge over the Avon, whence the castle burst upon
them in all its grandeur and beauty, Catesby dashed forward to an
embattled gate commanding the approach to the structure, and knocking
furiously against it, a wicket was opened by an old porter, who started
back on beholding the intruders. He would have closed the wicket, but
Catesby was too quick for him, and springing from his steed, dashed
aside the feeble opposition of the old man, and unbarred the gate.
Instantly mounting again, he galloped along a broad and winding path cut
so deeply in the rock, that the mighty pile they were approaching was
completely hidden from view. A few seconds, however, brought them to a
point, from which its three towers reared themselves full before them.
Another moment brought them to the edge of the moat, at this time
crossed by a stone bridge, but then filled with water, and defended by a
drawbridge.
As no attack like the present was apprehended, and as the owner of the
castle, the celebrated Fulke Greville, afterwards Lord Brooke, to whom
it had been recently granted by the reigning monarch, was then in the
capital, the drawbridge was down, and though several retainers rushed
forth on hearing the approach of so many horsemen, they were too late to
raise it. Threatening these persons with destruction if any resistance
was offered, Catesby passed through the great entrance, and rode into
the court, where he drew up his band.
By this time, the whole of the inmates of the castle had collected on
the ramparts, armed with calivers and partisans, and whatever weapons
they could find, and though their force was utterly disproportioned to
that of their opponents, they seemed disposed to give them battle.
Paying no attention to them, Catesby proceeded to the stables, where he
found upwards of twenty horses, which he exchanged for the worst and
most jaded of his own, and was about to enter the castle in search of
arms, when he was startled by hearing the alarm-bell rung. This was
succeeded by the discharge of a culverin on the summit of the tower,
named after the redoubted Guy, Earl of Warwick; and though the bell was
instantly silenced, Rookwood, who had dislodged the party from the
ramparts, brought word that the inhabitants of Warwick were assembling,
that drums were beating at the gates, and that an attack might be
speedily expected. Not desiring to hazard an engagement at this
juncture, Catesby gave up the idea of ransacking the castle, and ordered
his men to their horses.
Some delay, however, occurred before they could all be got together,
and, meanwhile, the ringing of bells and other alarming sounds
continued. At one time, it occurred to Catesby to attempt to maintain
possession of the castle; but this design was overruled by the other
conspirators, who represented to him the impracticability of the design.
At length, the whole troop being assembled, they crossed the drawbridge,
and speeded along the rocky path. Before the outer gate they found a
large body of men, some on horseback, and some on foot, drawn up. These
persons, however, struck with terror at their appearance, retreated, and
allowed them a free passage.
On turning to cross the bridge, they found it occupied by a strong and
well-armed body of men, headed by the Sheriff of Warwickshire, who
showed no disposition to give way. While the rebel party were preparing
to force a passage, a trumpet was sounded, and the Sheriff, riding
towards them, commanded them in the King's name to yield themselves
prisoners.
"We do not acknowledge the supremacy of James Stuart, whom you call
king," rejoined Catesby, sternly. "We fight for our liberties, and for
the restoration of the holy Catholic religion which we profess. Do not
oppose us, or you will have cause to rue your temerity."
"Hear me," cried the Sheriff, turning from him to his men: "I promise
you all a free pardon in the King's name, if you will throw down your
arms, and deliver up your leaders. But, if after this warning, you
continue in open rebellion against your sovereign, you will all suffer
the vilest death."
"Rejoin your men, sir," said Catesby, in a significant tone, and drawing
a petronel.
"A free pardon and a hundred pounds to him who will bring me the head of
Robert Catesby," said the Sheriff, disregarding the menace.
"Your own is not worth half the sum," rejoined Catesby; and levelling
the petronel, he shot him dead.
The Sheriff's fall was the signal for a general engagement. Exasperated
by the death of their leader, the royalist party assailed the rebels
with the greatest fury, and as the latter were attacked at the same time
in the rear, their situation began to appear perilous. But nothing could
withstand the vigour and determination of Catesby. Cheering on his men,
he soon cut a way across the bridge, and would have made good his
retreat, if he had not perceived, to his infinite dismay, that Percy and
Rookwood had been captured.
Regardless of any risk he might run, he shouted to those near to follow
him, and made such a desperate charge upon the royalists that in a few
minutes he was by the side of his friends, and had liberated them. In
trying, however, to follow up his advantage he got separated from his
companions, and was so hotly pressed on all sides, that his destruction
seemed inevitable. His petronels had both brought down their mark; and
in striking a blow against a stalwart trooper his sword had shivered
close to the handle. In this defenceless state his enemies made sure of
him, but they miscalculated his resources.
He was then close to the side of the bridge, and, before his purpose
could be divined, struck spurs deeply into his horse, and cleared the
parapet with a single bound. A shout of astonishment and admiration
arose alike from friend and foe, and there was a general rush towards
the side of the bridge. The noble animal that had borne him out of
danger was seen swimming towards the bank, and, though several shots
were fired at him, he reached it in safety. This gallant action so
raised Catesby in the estimation of his followers, that they welcomed
him with the utmost enthusiasm, and rallying round him, fought with such
vigour, that they drove their opponents over the bridge and compelled
them to flee towards the town.
Catesby now mustered his men, and finding his loss slighter than he
expected, though several were so severely wounded, that he was compelled
to leave them behind, rode off at a quick pace. After proceeding for
about four miles along the Stratford road, they turned off on the right
into a narrow lane leading to Snitterfield, with the intention of
visiting Norbrook, the family residence of John Grant. On arriving
there, they put the house into a state of defence, and then assembled in
the hall, while their followers recruited themselves in the court-yard.
"So far, well," observed Catesby, flinging himself into a chair; "the
first battle has been won."
"True," replied Grant; "but it will not do to tarry here long. This
house cannot hold out against a prolonged attack."
"We will not remain here more than a couple of hours," replied Catesby:
"but where shall we go next? I am for making some desperate attempt,
which shall strike terror into our foes."
"Are we strong enough to march to the Earl of Harrington's mansion near
Coventry, and carry off the Princess Elizabeth?" asked Percy.
"She were indeed a glorious prize," replied Catesby; "but I have no
doubt, on the first alarm of our rising, she has been conveyed to a
place of safety. And even if she were there, we should have the whole
armed force of Coventry to contend with. No--no, it will not do to
attempt that."
"Nothing venture, nothing have!" cried Sir Everard Digby. "We ought, in
my opinion, to run any risk to secure her."
"You know me too well, Digby," rejoined Catesby, "to doubt my readiness
to undertake any project, however hazardous, which would offer the
remotest chance of success. But in this I see none, unless, indeed, it
could be accomplished by stratagem. Let us first ascertain what support
we can obtain, and then decide upon the measures to be adopted."
"I am content," returned Digby.
"Old Mr. Talbot of Grafton is a friend of yours, is he not?" continued
Catesby, addressing Thomas Winter. "Can you induce him to join us?"
"I will try," replied Thomas Winter; "but I have some misgivings."
"Be not faint-hearted," rejoined Catesby. "You and Stephen Littleton
shall go to him at once, and join us at your own mansion of Huddington,
whither we will proceed as soon as our men are thoroughly recruited. Use
every argument you can devise with Talbot,--tell him that the welfare of
the Catholic cause depends on our success,--and that neither his years
nor infirmities can excuse his absence at this juncture. If he will not,
or cannot come himself, cause him to write letters to all his Catholic
neighbours, urging them to join us, and bid him send all his retainers
and servants to us."
"I will not neglect a single plea," replied Thomas Winter, "and I will
further urge compliance by his long friendship towards myself. But, as I
have just said, I despair of success."
Soon after this, he and Stephen Littleton, with two of the troopers
well-mounted and well-armed, rode across the country through lanes and
by-roads, with which they were well acquainted, to Grafton. At the same
time, Catesby repaired to the court-yard, and assembling his men, found
there were twenty-five missing. More than half of these it was known had
been killed or wounded at Warwick; but the rest, it was suspected, had
deserted.
Whatever effect this scrutiny might secretly have upon Catesby, he
maintained a cheerful and confident demeanour, and mounting a flight of
steps, harangued the band in energetic and exciting terms. Displaying a
small image of the virgin to them, he assured them they were under the
special protection of heaven, whose cause they were fighting--and
concluded by reciting a prayer, in which the whole assemblage heartily
joined. This done, they filled the baggage-cart with provisions and
further ammunition, and forming themselves into good order, took the
road to Alcester.
They had not gone far, when torrents of rain fell, and the roads being
in a shocking condition, and ploughed up with ruts, they turned into the
fields wherever it was practicable, and continued their march very
slowly, and under excessively disheartening circumstances. On arriving
at the ford across the Avon, near Bishopston, they found the stream so
swollen that it was impossible to get across it. Sir Everard Digby, who
made the attempt, was nearly carried off by the current. They were
therefore compelled to proceed to Stratford, and cross the bridge.
"My friends," said Catesby, commanding a halt at a short distance of the
town, "I know not what reception we may meet with here. Probably much
the same as at Warwick. But I command you not to strike a blow, except
in self-defence."
Those injunctions given, attended by the other conspirators, except
Percy and Rookwood, who brought up the rear, he rode slowly into
Stratford, and proceeding to the market-place, ordered a trumpet to be
sounded. On the first appearance of the troop, most of the inhabitants
fled to their houses, and fastened the doors, but some few courageous
persons followed them at a wary distance. These were harangued at some
length by Catesby, who called upon them to join the expedition, and held
out promises, which only excited the derision of the hearers.
Indeed, the dejected looks of most of the band, and the drenched and
muddy state of their apparel, made them objects of pity and contempt,
rather than of serious apprehension: and nothing but their numbers
prevented an attack being made upon them. Catesby's address concluded
amid groans of dissatisfaction; and finding he was wasting time, and
injuring his own cause, he gave the word to march, and moved slowly
through the main street, but not a single recruit joined him.
Another unpropitious circumstance occurred just as they were leaving
Stratford. Two or three of his followers tried to slink away, when
Catesby, riding after them, called to them to return, and no attention
being paid to his orders, he shot the man nearest him, and compelled the
others, by threats of the same punishment, to return to their ranks.
This occurrence, while it occasioned much discontent and ill-will among
the band, gave great uneasiness to their leaders. Catesby and Percy now
brought up the rear, and kept a sharp look-out to check any further
attempt at desertion.
Digby and Winter, being well acquainted with all the Catholic gentry in
the neighbourhood, they proceeded to their different residences, and
were uniformly coldly received, and in some cases dismissed with
reproaches and menaces. In spite of all their efforts, too, repeated
desertions took place; and long before they reached Alcester, their
force was diminished by a dozen men. Not thinking it prudent to pass
through the town, they struck into a lane on the right, and fording the
Arrow near Ragley, skirted that extensive park, and crossing the hills
near Weethly and Stoney Moreton, arrived in about an hour and a half, in
a very jaded condition, at Huddington, the seat of Robert Winter.
Affairs seemed to wear so unpromising an aspect, that Catesby, on
entering the house, immediately called a council of his friends, and
asked them what they proposed to do.
"For my own part," he said, "I am resolved to fight it out. I will
continue my march as long as I can get a man to follow me, and when they
are all gone, will proceed alone. But I will never yield."
"We will all die together, if need be," said Sir Everard Digby. "Let us
rest here to-night, and in the morning proceed to Lord Windsor's
mansion, Hewel Grange, which I know to be well stocked with arms, and,
after carrying off all we can, we will fortify Stephen Littleton's house
at Holbeach, and maintain it for a few days against our enemies."
This proposal agreed to, they repaired to the court-yard, and busied
themselves in seeing the wants of their followers attended to; and such
a change was effected by good fare and a few hours' repose, that the
spirits of the whole party revived, and confidence was once more
restored. A slight damp, however, was again thrown upon the satisfaction
of the leaders, by the return of Thomas Winter and Stephen Littleton
from Grafton. Their mission had proved wholly unsuccessful. Mr. Talbot
had not merely refused to join them, but had threatened to detain them.
"He says we deserve the worst of deaths," observed Thomas Winter, in
conclusion, "and that we have irretrievably injured the Catholic cause."
"And I begin to fear he speaks the truth," rejoined Christopher Wright.
"However, for us there is no retreat."
"None whatever," rejoined Catesby, in a sombre tone. "We must choose
between death upon the battle-field or on the scaffold."
"The former be my fate," cried Percy.
"And mine," added Catesby.
An anxious and perturbed night was passed by the conspirators, and many
a plan was proposed and abandoned. It had been arranged among them that
they should each in succession make the rounds of the place, to see that
the sentinels were at their posts--strict orders having been given to
the latter to fire upon whomsoever might attempt to fly--but, as
Catesby, despite his great previous fatigue, was unable to rest, he took
this duty chiefly upon himself.
Returning at midnight from an examination of the court-yard, he was
about to enter the house, when he perceived before him a tall figure,
with a cloak muffled about its face, standing in his path. It was
perfectly motionless, and Catesby, who carried a lantern in his hand,
threw the light upon it, but it neither moved forward, nor altered its
position. Catesby would have challenged it, but an undefinable terror
seized him, and his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. An idea rose
to his mind that it was the spirit of Guy Fawkes, and, by a powerful
effort, he compelled himself to address it.
"Are you come to warn me?" he demanded.
The figure moved in acquiescence, and withdrawing the cloak, revealed
features of ghastly paleness, but resembling those of Fawkes.
"Have I long to live?" demanded Catesby.
The figure shook its head.
"Shall I fall to-morrow?" pursued Catesby.
The figure again made a gesture in the negative.
"The next day?"
Solemnly inclining its head, the figure once more muffled its ghastly
visage in its cloak, and melted from his view.
For some time Catesby remained in a state almost of stupefaction. He
then summoned up all the resolution of his nature, and instead of
returning to the house, continued to pace to and fro in the court, and
at last walked forth into the garden. It was profoundly dark; and he had
not advanced many steps when he suddenly encountered a man. Repressing
the exclamation that rose to his lips, he drew a petronel from his belt,
and waited till the person addressed him.
"Is it you, Sir John Foliot?" asked a voice, which he instantly
recognised as that of Topcliffe.
"Ay," replied Catesby, in a low tone.
"Did you manage to get into the house?" pursued Topcliffe.
"I did," returned Catesby; "but speak lower. There is a sentinel within
a few paces of us. Come this way."
And grasping the other's arm he drew him further down the walk.
"Do you think we may venture to surprise them?" demanded Topcliffe.
"Hum!" exclaimed Catesby, hesitating, in the hope of inducing the other
to betray his design.
"Or shall we wait the arrival of Sir Richard Walsh, the Sheriff of
Worcestershire, and the _posse comitatus_?" pursued Topcliffe.
"How soon do you think the Sheriff will arrive?" asked Catesby, scarcely
able to disguise his anxiety.
"He cannot be here before daybreak--if so soon," returned Topcliffe,
"and then we shall have to besiege the house; and though I have no fear
of the result, yet some of the conspirators may fall in the skirmish;
and my orders from the Earl of Salisbury, as I have already apprised
you, are, to take them alive."
"True," replied Catesby.
"I would not, for twice the reward I shall receive for the capture of
the whole party, that that desperate traitor, Catesby, should be slain,"
continued Topcliffe. "The plot was contrived by him, and the extent of
its ramifications can alone be ascertained through him."
"I think I can contrive their capture," observed Catesby; "but the
utmost caution must be used. I will return to the house, and find out
where the chief conspirators are lodged. I will then throw open the
door, and will return to this place, where you can have our men
assembled. If we can seize and secure the leaders, the rest will be
easy."
"You will run great risk, Sir John," said Topcliffe, with affected
concern.
"Heed not that," replied Catesby. "You may expect me in a few minutes.
Get together your men as noiselessly as you can."
With this he hastily withdrew.
On returning to the house, he instantly roused his companions, and
acquainted them with what had occurred.
"My object," he said, "is to make Topcliffe a prisoner. We may obtain
much useful information from him. As to the others, if they offer
resistance, we will put them to death."
"What force have they?" asked Sir Everard Digby, with some uneasiness.
"It is impossible to say precisely," replied Catesby; "but not more than
a handful of men, I should imagine, as they are waiting for Sir Richard
Walsh."
"I know not what may be the issue of this matter," observed Robert
Winter, whose looks were unusually haggard; "but I have had a strange
and ominous dream, which fills me with apprehension."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Catesby, upon whose mind the recollection of the
apparition he had beheld rushed.
"Catesby," pursued Robert Winter, taking him aside, "if you have any sin
unrepented of, I counsel you to make your peace with Heaven, for I fear
you are not long for this world."
"It may be so," rejoined Catesby, firmly; "and I have many dark and
damning sins upon my soul, but I will die as I have lived, firm and
unshaken to the last. And now, let us prepare for our foes."
So saying, he proceeded to call up the trustiest of his men, and
enjoining profound silence upon them, disposed them in various places,
that they might instantly appear at his signal. After giving them other
directions, he returned to the garden, and coughed slightly. He was
answered by a quickly-approaching footstep, and a voice demanded,
"Are you there, Sir John?"
Catesby answered in a low tone in the affirmative.
"Come forward, then," rejoined Topcliffe.
As he spoke there was a rush of persons towards the spot, and seizing
Catesby, he cried, in a triumphant tone, while he unmasked a lantern,
and threw its light full upon his face,
"You are caught in your own trap, Mr. Catesby. You are my prisoner."
"Not so, villain," cried Catesby, disengaging himself by a powerful
effort.
Springing backwards, he drew his sword, and making the blade describe a
circle round his body, effected his retreat in safety, though a dozen
shots were fired at him. Leaping the garden wall, he was instantly
surrounded by the other conspirators, and the greater part of the band,
who, hearing the reports of the fire-arms, had hurried to the spot.
Instantly putting himself at their head, Catesby returned to the garden;
but Topcliffe and his party had taken the alarm and fled. Torches were
brought, and, by Catesby's directions, a large heap of dry stubble was
set on fire. But, though the flames revealed every object for a
considerable distance around them, no traces of the hostile party could
be discerned.
After continuing their ineffectual search for some time, the
conspirators returned to the house, and abandoning all idea of retiring
to rest, kept strict watch during the remainder of the night. Little
conversation took place. All were deeply depressed; and Catesby paced
backwards and forwards within a passage leading from the hall to the
dining-chamber. His thoughts were gloomy enough, and he retraced the
whole of his wild and turbulent career, pondering upon its close, which
he could not disguise from himself was at hand.
"It matters not," he mentally ejaculated; "I shall not die
ignominiously, and I would rather perish in the vigour of manhood than
linger out a miserable old age. I have striven hard to achieve a great
enterprise, and having failed, have little else to live for. This band
cannot hold together two days longer. Our men will desert us, or turn
upon us to obtain the price set upon our heads. And, were they true, I
have little reliance upon my companions. They have no longer the
confidence that can alone insure success, and I expect each moment some
one will propose a surrender. Surrender! I will never do so with life.
Something must be done--something worthy of me--and then let me perish.
I have ever prayed to die a soldier's death."
As he uttered these words unconsciously aloud, he became aware of the
presence of Robert Winter, who stood at the end of the passage, watching
him.
"Your prayer will not be granted, Catesby," said the latter. "Some
dreadful doom, I fear, is reserved for you and all of us."
"What mean you?" demanded the other, uneasily.
"Listen to me," replied Robert Winter. "I told you I had a strange and
appalling dream to-night, and I will now relate it. I thought I was in a
boat upon the river Thames, when all at once the day, which had been
bright and smiling, became dark and overcast,--not dark like the shades
of night, but gloomy and ominous, as when the sun is shrouded by an
eclipse. I looked around, and every object was altered. The tower of
Saint Paul's stood awry, and seemed ready to topple down,--so did the
spires and towers of all the surrounding fanes. The houses on London
Bridge leaned frightfully over the river, and the habitations lining its
banks on either side, seemed shaken to their foundations. I fancied some
terrible earthquake must have occurred, or that the end of the world was
at hand."
"Go on," said Catesby, who had listened with profound attention to the
relation.
"The stream, too, changed its colour," continued Robert Winter, "and
became red as blood, and the man who rowed my boat was gone, and his
place occupied by a figure masked and habited like an executioner. I
commanded him to row me ashore, and in an instant the bark shot to land,
and I sprang out, glad to be liberated from my mysterious conductor. My
steps involuntarily led me toward the cathedral, and on entering it, I
found its pillars, shrines, monuments, and roof hung with black. The
throng that ever haunt Paul's Walk had disappeared, and a few dismal
figures alone traversed the aisles. On approaching them, I recognised in
their swollen, death-like, and blackened lineaments, some resemblance to
you and our friends. I was about to interrogate them, when I was
awakened by yourself."
"A strange dream, truly," observed Catesby, musingly, "and coupled with
what I myself have seen to-night, would seem to bode evil."
And he then proceeded to describe the supernatural appearance he had
beheld to his companion.
"All is over with us," rejoined Robert Winter. "We must prepare to meet
our fate."
"We must meet it like men,--like brave men, Robert," replied Catesby.
"We must not disgrace ourselves and our cause."
"You are right," rejoined Robert Winter; "but these visions are more
terrible than the contemplation of death itself."
"If you require further rest, take it," returned Catesby. "In an hour I
shall call up our men, and march to Hewel Grange."
"I am wearied enough," replied Robert Winter, "but I dare not close my
eyes again."
"Then recommend your soul to Heaven," said Catesby. "I would be alone.
Melancholy thoughts press upon me, and I desire to unburden my heart to
God."
Robert Winter then left him, and he withdrew into a closet where there
was an image of the Virgin, and kneeling before it, prayed long and
fervently. Arising in a calmer frame of mind, he returned to the hall,
and summoning his companions and followers, their horses were brought
forth, and they commenced their march.
It was about four o'clock when they started, and so dark, that they had
some difficulty in finding the road. They proceeded at a slow pace, and
with the utmost caution; but notwithstanding this, and though the two
Winters and Grant, who were well acquainted with the country, led the
way, many trifling delays and disasters occurred. Their baggage-cart
frequently stuck fast in the deep ruts, while the men missing their way,
got into the trenches skirting the lane, and were not unfrequently
thrown from their horses. More than once, too, the alarm was given that
they were pursued, and a sudden halt ordered; but these apprehensions
proved groundless, and, after a most fatiguing ride, they found
themselves at Stoke Prior, and within two miles of Hewel Grange.
Originally built in the early part of the reign of Henry the Eighth, and
granted by that monarch to an ancestor of its present possessor, Lord
Windsor, this ancient mansion was quadrangular in form, and surrounded
by a broad deep fosse. Situated in the heart of an extensive park, at
the foot of a gentle hill, it was now approached from the brow of the
latter beautiful eminence by the rebel party. But at this season, and at
this hour, both park and mansion had a forlorn look. The weather still
continued foggy, with drizzling showers, and though the trees were not
yet entirely stripped of their foliage, their glories had altogether
departed. The turf was damp and plashy, and in some places partook so
much of the character of a swamp, that the horsemen were obliged to
alter their course.
But all obstacles were eventually overcome, and in ten minutes after
their entrance into the park, they were within gunshot of the mansion.
There were no symptoms of defence apparent, but the drawbridge being
raised, it was Catesby's opinion, notwithstanding appearances, that
their arrival was expected. He was further confirmed in this idea when,
sounding a trumpet, and calling to the porter to let down the
drawbridge, no answer was returned.
The entrance to the mansion was through a lofty and machiolated gateway,
strengthened at each side by an embattled turret. Perceiving a man at
one of the loopholes, Catesby discharged his petronel at him, and it was
evident from the cry that followed that the person was wounded. An
instant afterwards calivers were thrust through the other loopholes, and
several shots fired upon the rebels, while some dozen armed men appeared
upon the summit of the tower, and likewise commenced firing.
Perceiving Topcliffe among the latter, and enraged at the sight, Catesby
discharged another petronel at him, but without effect. He then called
to some of his men to break down the door of an adjoining barn, and to
place it in the moat. The order was instantly obeyed, and the door
afloat in the fosse, and springing upon it, he impelled himself with a
pike towards the opposite bank. Several shots were fired at him, and
though more than one struck the door, he crossed the moat uninjured. So
suddenly was this daring passage effected, that before any of the
defenders of the mansion could prevent him, Catesby had severed the
links of the chain fastening the drawbridge, and it fell clattering
down.
With a loud shout, his companions then crossed it. But they had still a
difficulty to encounter. The gates, which were of great strength, and
covered with plates of iron, were barred. But a ladder having been found
in the barn, it was brought forward, and Catesby mounting it sword in
hand, drove back all who opposed him, and got upon the wall. He was
followed by Sir Everard Digby, Percy, and several others, and driving
the royalists before them, they made their way down a flight of stone
steps, and proceeding to the gateway, threw it open, and admitted the
others. All this was the work of a few minutes.
Committing the ransacking of the mansion to Digby and Percy, and
commanding a dozen men to follow him, Catesby entered a small arched
doorway, and ascended a winding stone staircase in search of Topcliffe.
His progress was opposed by the soldiers, but beating aside all
opposition, he gained the roof. Topcliffe, however, was gone.
Anticipating the result of the attack, he had let himself drop from the
summit of the tower to the walls, and descending by the ladder, had made
good his retreat.
Disarming the soldiers, Catesby then descended to the court-yard, where
in a short time a large store of arms, consisting of corslets,
demi-lances, pikes, calivers, and two falconets, were brought forth.
These, together with a cask of powder, were placed in the
baggage-waggon. Meanwhile, the larder and cellar had been explored, and
provisions of all kinds, together with a barrel of mead, and another of
strong ale, being found, they were distributed among the men.
While this took place, Catesby searched the mansion, and, partly by
threats, partly by persuasion, induced about twenty persons to join
them. This unlooked-for success so encouraged the conspirators, that
their drooping spirits began to revive. Catesby appeared as much elated
as the others, but at heart he was full of misgiving.
Soon afterwards, the rebel party quitted Hewel Grange, taking with them
every weapon they could find. The forced recruits were placed in the
midst of the band, so that escape was impracticable.
CHAPTER IV.
HOLBEACH.
Avoiding the high road, and traversing an unfrequented part of the
country, the conspirators shaped their course towards Stourbridge. As
they reached Forfield Green, they perceived a large party descending the
hilly ground near Bromsgrove, and evidently in pursuit of them. An
immediate halt was ordered, and taking possession of a farm-house, they
prepared for defence.
Seeing these preparations, their pursuers, who proved to be Sir Richard
Walsh the Sheriff of Worcestershire, Sir John Foliot, three gentlemen
named Ketelbye, Salwaye, and Conyers, attended by a large posse of men,
all tolerably well armed, drew up at some distance from the farm, and
appeared to be consulting as to the prudence of making an attack.
Topcliffe was with them; and Catesby, who reconnoitered their
proceedings from a window of the dwelling, inferred from his gestures
that he was against the assault. And so it proved. The royalist party
remained where they were, and as one or two of their number occasionally
disappeared, Catesby judged, and correctly, that they were despatched
for a reinforcement.
Not willing to wait for this, he determined to continue his march, and,
accordingly, forming his men into a close line, and bringing up the rear
himself, they again set forward. Sir Richard Walsh and his party
followed them, and whenever they were in a difficult part of the road,
harassed them with a sudden attack. In this way, several stragglers were
cut off, and a few prisoners made. So exasperated did Catesby become by
these annoyances, that, though desirous to push forward as fast as
possible, he halted at the entrance of a common, and prepared for an
engagement. But his purpose was defeated, for the royalist party took
another course, nor did he see anything more of them for some time.
In about an hour the rebels arrived at the banks of the river Stour, not
far from the little village of Churchill, and here, just as they were
preparing to ford the stream, the sheriff and his followers again made
their appearance. By this time, also, the forces of their opponents were
considerably augmented, and as more than a third of their own party were
engaged in crossing the stream, which was greatly swollen by the recent
rains, and extremely dangerous, their position was one of no slight
peril.
Nothing daunted, Catesby instantly drew up his men on the bank, and,
after a short skirmish, drove away the enemy, and afterwards contrived
to cross the river without much loss. He found, however, that the
baggage-cart had got immersed in the stream, and it was feared that the
powder would be damaged. They remained on the opposite bank for some
time; but as their enemies did not attempt to follow them, they took the
way to Holbeach, a large and strongly built mansion belonging, as has
been already stated, to Stephen Littleton. Here they arrived without
further molestation, and their first business was to put it into a
complete state of defence.
[Illustration: _The Explosion at Holbeach_]
After a long and anxious consultation, Sir Everard Digby quitted them,
undertaking to return on the following day with succours. Stephen
Littleton also disappeared on the same evening. His flight produced a
strong impression on Catesby, and he besought the others not to abandon
the good cause, but to stand by it, as he himself meant to do, to the
last. They all earnestly assured him that they would do so, except
Robert Winter, who sat apart, and took no share in their discourse.
Catesby then examined the powder that had been plunged in the water in
crossing the Stour, and found it so much wetted as to be nearly useless.
A sufficient stock of powder being of the utmost consequence to them, he
caused all the contents of the barrel, not dissolved by the immersion,
to be poured into a large platter, and proceeded to dry it before a fire
which had been kindled in the hall. A bag of powder, which had likewise
been slightly wetted, was also placed at what was considered a safe
distance from the fire.
"Heaven grant this may prove more destructive to our enemies than the
combustibles we placed in the mine beneath the Parliament House!"
observed Percy.
"Heaven grant so, indeed!" rejoined Catesby, with a moody smile. "They
would call it retribution, where we to perish by the same means which we
designed for others."
"Jest not on so serious a matter, Catesby," observed Robert Winter. "For
my own part, I dread the sight of powder, and shall walk forth till you
have dried this, and put it away."
"You are not going to leave us, like Stephen Littleton?" rejoined
Catesby, suspiciously.
"I will go with him," said Christopher Wright; "so you need be under no
apprehension."
Accordingly, he quitted the hall with Robert Winter, and they proceeded
to the court-yard and were conversing together on the dismal prospects
of the party, when a tremendous explosion took place. The roof of the
building seemed rent in twain, and amidst a shower of tiles, plaster,
bricks, and broken wood falling around, the bag of powder dropped
untouched at their feet.
"Mother of mercy!" exclaimed Christopher Wright, picking it up. "Here is
a providential occurrence. Had this exploded, we must all have been
destroyed."
"Let us see what has happened," cried Robert Winter.
And, followed by Christopher Wright, he rushed towards the hall, and
bursting open the door, beheld Catesby enveloped in a cloud of smoke,
and pressing his hand to his face, which was scorched and blackened by
the explosion. Rookwood was stretched on the floor in a state of
insensibility, and it at first appeared that life was extinct. Percy was
extinguishing the flames, which had caught his dress, and John Grant was
similarly occupied.
"Those are the very faces I beheld in my dream," cried Robert Winter,
gazing at them with affright. "It was a true warning."
Rushing up to Catesby, Christopher Wright clasped him in his arms, and
extinguishing his flaming apparel, cried, "Wretch that I am! that I
should live to see this day!"
"Be not alarmed!" gasped Catesby. "It is nothing--it was a mere
accident."
"It is no accident, Catesby," replied Robert Winter. "Heaven is against
us and our design."
And he quitted the room, and left the house. Nor did he return to it.
"I will pray for forgiveness!" cried John Grant, whose vision was so
much injured by the explosion that he could as yet see nothing. And
dragging himself before an image of the Virgin, he prayed aloud,
acknowledging that the act he had designed was so bloody that it called
for the vengeance of Heaven, and expressing his sincere repentance.
"No more of this," cried Catesby, staggering up to him, and snatching
the image from him. "It was a mere accident, I tell you. We are all
alive, and shall yet succeed."
On inquiry, Christopher Wright learnt that a blazing coal had shot out
of the fire, and falling into the platter containing the powder, had
occasioned the disastrous accident above described.
CHAPTER V.
THE CLOSE OF THE REBELLION.
Unable longer to endure the agony occasioned by his scorched visage,
Catesby called for a bucket of water, and plunged his head into it.
Somewhat relieved by the immersion, he turned to inquire after his
fellow-sufferers. Rookwood having been carried into the open air, had by
this time regained his consciousness; Percy was shockingly injured, his
hair and eyebrows burnt, his skin blackened and swollen with unseemly
blisters, and the sight of one eye entirely destroyed; while John Grant,
though a degree less hurt than his companions, presented a grim and
ghastly appearance. In fact, the four sufferers looked as if they had
just escaped from some unearthly place of torment, and were doomed
henceforth to bear the brand of Divine wrath on their countenances.
Seeing the effect produced on the others, Catesby rallied all his force,
and treating the accident as a matter of no moment, and which ought not
to disturb the equanimity of brave men, called for wine, and quaffed a
full goblet. Injured as he was, and smarting with pain, Percy followed
his example, but both John Grant and Rookwood refused the cup.
"Hark 'e, gentlemen," cried Catesby, fiercely, "you may drink or not, as
you see fit. But I will not have you assume a deportment calculated to
depress our followers. Stephen Littleton and Robert Winter have basely
deserted us. If you have any intention of following them, go at once. We
are better without you than with you."
"I have no thought of deserting you, Catesby," rejoined Rookwood,
mournfully; "and when the time arrives for action, you will find I shall
not be idle. But I am now assured that we have sold ourselves to
perdition."
"Pshaw!" cried Catesby, with a laugh that communicated an almost
fiendish expression to his grim features; "because a little powder has
accidentally exploded and blackened our faces, are we to see in the
occurrence the retributive justice of Heaven? Are we to be cast down by
such a trifle? Be a man, and rouse yourself. Recollect that the eyes of
all England are upon us; and if we must fall, let us perish in a manner
that becomes us. No real mischief has been done. My hand is as able to
wield a blade, and my sight to direct a shot, as heretofore. If Heaven
had meant to destroy us, the bag of powder which has been taken up in
the yard, and which was sufficient not only to annihilate us, but to lay
this house in ruins, would have been suffered to explode."
"Would it _had_ exploded!" exclaimed John Wright. "All would then have
been over."
"Are you, too, fainthearted, John?" cried Catesby. "Well, well, leave me
one and all of you. I will fight it out alone."
"You wrong me by the suspicion, Catesby," returned John Wright. "I am as
true to the cause as yourself. But I perceive that our last hour is at
hand, and I would it were past."
"The indulgence of such a wish at such a moment is a weakness," rejoined
Catesby. "I care not when death comes, provided it comes gloriously; and
such should be your feeling. On the manner in which we meet our fate
will depend the effect which our insurrection will produce throughout
the country. We must set a brave example to our brethren. Heaven be
praised; we shall not perish on the scaffold!"
"Be not too sure of that," said Grant, gloomily. "It may yet be our
fate."
"It shall never be mine," cried Catesby.
"Nor mine," added Percy. "I am so far from regarding the recent disaster
as a punishment, though I am the severest sufferer by it, that I think
we ought to return thanks to Heaven for our preservation."
"In whatever light the accident is viewed," observed John Wright, "we
cannot too soon address ourselves to Heaven. We know not how long it may
be in our power to do so."
"Again desponding," cried Catesby. "But no matter. You will recover your
spirits anon."
John Wright shook his head, and Catesby, pulling his hat over his brows
to hide his features, walked forth into the court-yard. He found, as he
expected, that general consternation prevailed amongst the band. The men
were gathered together in little knots, and, though they became silent
as he approached, he perceived they were discussing the necessity of a
surrender. Nothing daunted by these unfavourable, appearances, Catesby
harangued them in such bold terms that he soon inspired them with some
of his own confidence, and completely resteadied their wavering
feelings.
Elated with his success, he caused a cup of strong ale to be given to
each man, and proposed as a pledge, the restoration of the Romish
Church. He then returned to the house; and summoning the other
conspirators to attend him in a chamber on the ground-floor, they all
prayed long and fervently, and concluded by administering the sacrament
to each other.
It was now thought necessary to have the damage done by the explosion
repaired, and a few hours were employed in the operation. Evening was
fast approaching, and Catesby, who was anxiously expecting the return of
Sir Everard Digby, stationed himself on the turreted walls of the
mansion to look out for him. But he came not; and, fearing some
mischance must have befallen him, Catesby descended. Desirous of
concealing his misgivings from his companions, he put on a cheerful
manner as he joined them.
"I am surprised ere this that we have not been attacked," remarked
Percy. "Our enemies may be waiting for the darkness, to take us by
surprise. But they will be disappointed."
"I can only account for the delay by supposing they have encountered Sir
Everard Digby, and the force he is bringing to us," remarked Christopher
Wright.
"It may be so," returned Catesby, "and if so, we shall soon learn the
result."
In spite of all Catesby's efforts he failed to engage his companions in
conversation, and feeling it would best suit his present frame of mind,
and contribute most to their safety, to keep in constant motion, he
proceeded to the court-yard, saw that all the defences were secure, that
the drawbridge was raised, the sentinels at their posts, and everything
prepared for the anticipated attack. Every half hour he thus made his
rounds, and when towards midnight he was going forth, Percy said to him,
"Do you not mean to take any rest, Catesby?"
"Not till I am in my grave," was the moody reply.
Catesby's untiring energy was in fact a marvel to all his followers. His
iron frame seemed wholly unsusceptible of fatigue; and even when he
returned to the house, he continued to pace to and fro in the passage in
preference to lying down.
"Rest tranquilly," he said to Christopher Wright, who offered to take
his place. "I will rouse you on the slightest approach of danger."
But though he preserved this stoical exterior, Catesby's breast was torn
by the keenest pangs. He could not hide from himself that, to serve his
own ambitious purposes, he had involved many loyal and worthy (till he
had deluded them) persons in a treasonable project, which must now
terminate in their destruction; and their blood, he feared, would rest
upon his head. But what weighed heaviest of all upon his soul was the
probable fate of Viviana.
"If I were assured she would escape," he thought, "I should care little
for all the rest, even for Fawkes. They say it is never too late to
repent. But my repentance shall lie between my Maker and myself. Man
shall never know it."
The night was dark, and the gloom was rendered more profound by a dense
fog. Fearing an attack might now be attempted, Catesby renewed his
vigilance. Marching round the edge of the moat, he listened to every
sound that might betray the approach of a foe. For some time, nothing
occurred to excite his suspicions, until about an hour after midnight,
as he was standing at the back of the house, he fancied he detected a
stealthy tread on the other side of the fosse, and soon became convinced
that a party of men were there. Determined to ascertain their movements
before giving the alarm, he held his breath, and drawing a petronel,
remained perfectly motionless. Presently, though he could discern no
object, he distinctly heard a plank pushed across the moat, and could
distinguish in the whispered accents of one of the party the voice of
Topcliffe. A thrill of savage joy agitated his bosom, and he internally
congratulated himself that revenge was in his power.
A footstep, though so noiseless as to be inaudible to any ear less acute
than his own, was now heard crossing the plank, and feeling certain it
was Topcliffe, Catesby allowed him to land, and then suddenly advancing,
kicked the plank, on which were two other persons, into the water, and
unmasking a dark lantern, threw its light upon the face of a man near
him, who proved, as he suspected, to be Topcliffe.
Aware of the advantage of making a prisoner of importance, Catesby
controlled the impulse that prompted him to sacrifice Topcliffe to his
vengeance, and firing his petronel in the air as a signal, he drew his
sword, and sprang upon him. Topcliffe attempted to defend himself, but
he was no match for the skill and impetuosity of Catesby, and was
instantly overpowered and thrown to the ground. By this time, Percy and
several of the band had come up, and delivering Topcliffe to the charge
of two of the stoutest of them, Catesby turned his attention to the
other assailants. One of them got across the moat; but the other,
encumbered by his arms, was floundering about, when Catesby pointing a
petronel at his head, he was fain to surrender, and was dragged out.
A volley of musketry was now fired by the rebels in the supposed
direction of their opponents, but it could not be ascertained what
execution was done. After waiting for some time, in expectation of a
further attack, Catesby placed a guard upon the spot, and proceeded to
examine Topcliffe. He had been thrown into a cellar beneath the kitchen,
and the two men were on guard over him. He refused to answer any of
Catesby's questions, though enforced by threats of instant death. On
searching him some letters were found upon him, and thrusting them into
his doublet, Catesby left him, with the strictest injunctions to the men
as to his safe custody.
He then proceeded to examine the other captive, and found him somewhat
more tractable. This man informed him that Topcliffe had intended to
steal into the house with the design of capturing the conspirators, or,
failing in that, of setting fire to the premises. He also ascertained
that Topcliffe's force consisted only of a dozen men, so that no further
attack need be apprehended.
Notwithstanding this information, Catesby determined to be on the safe
side, and doubling the sentinels, he stationed one of the conspirators,
all of whom had sprung to arms at his signal, at each of the exposed
points. He then withdrew to the mansion, and examined Topcliffe's
papers. The first despatch he opened was from the Earl of Salisbury,
bearing date about the early part of Fawkes's confinement in the Tower,
in which the Earl expressed his determination of wringing a full
confession from the prisoner. A bitter smile curled Catesby's lip as he
read this, but his brow darkened as he proceeded, and found that a
magnificent reward was offered for his own arrest.
"I must have Catesby captured," ran the missive,--"so see you spare no
pains to take him. I would rather all escaped than he did. His
confession is of the last importance in the matter, and I rely upon your
bringing him to me alive."
"I will at least balk him of that satisfaction," muttered Catesby. "But
what is this of Viviana?"
Reading further, he found that the Earl had issued the same orders
respecting Viviana, and that she would be rigorously dealt with if
captured.
"Alas!" groaned Catesby; "I hope she will escape these inhuman
butchers."
The next despatch he opened was from Tresham, and with a savage
satisfaction he found that the traitor was apprehensive of
double-dealing on the part of Salisbury and Mounteagle. He stated that
he had been put under arrest, and was detained a prisoner in his own
house; and fearing he should be sent to the Tower, besought Topcliffe to
use his influence with the Earl of Salisbury not to deal unfairly with
him.
"He is rightly served!" cried Catesby, with a bitter smile. "Heaven
grant they may deal with him as he dealt with us!"
The consideration of these letters furnished Catesby with food for much
bitter reflection. Pacing the room to and fro with uncertain footsteps,
he remained more than an hour by himself, and at last yielding to the
promptings of vengeance, repaired to the cellar in which he had placed
Topcliffe, with the intention of putting him to death. What was his rage
and mortification to find both the guard and the prisoner gone! A door
was open, and it was evident that the fugitives had stolen to the moat,
and, swimming noiselessly across it in the darkness, had securely
effected their retreat.
Fearful of exciting the alarm of his followers, Catesby controlled his
indignation, and said nothing of the escape of the prisoner to any but
his confederates, who entirely approved of the policy of silence. They
continued on the alert during the remainder of the night, and no one
thought of seeking repose till it was fully light, and all danger of a
surprise at an end.
Day dawned late and dismally. The fog that had hung round the mansion
changed just before daybreak into drizzling rain, and this increased ere
long to heavy and drenching showers. Everything looked gloomy and
depressing, and the conspirators were so disheartened, that they avoided
each other's regards.
Catesby mounted the walls of the mansion to reconnoitre. The prospect
was forlorn and melancholy to the last degree. The neighbouring woods
were obscured by mist; the court-yard and garden flooded with rain; and
the waters of the moat spotted by the heavy shower. Not an object was in
view, except a hind driving cattle to a neighbouring farm. Catesby
shouted to him, and the fellow with evident reluctance approaching the
brink of the moat, was asked whether he had seen any troops in the
neighbourhood. The man answered in the negative, but said he had heard
that an engagement had taken place in the night, about five miles from
thence, near Hales Owen, between Sir Everard Digby and Sir Richard
Walsh, and that Sir Everard's party had been utterly routed, and himself
taken prisoner.
This intelligence was a severe blow to Catesby, as it destroyed the last
faint hope he had clung to. For some time he continued wrapt in thought,
and then descended to the lower part of the house. A large fire had been
kept up during the night in the hall, and the greater part of the band
were now gathered round it, drying their wet clothes, and conversing
together. A plentiful breakfast had been served out to them, so that
they were in tolerably good spirits, and many of them talked loudly of
the feats they meant to perform in case of an attack.
Catesby heard these boasts, but they fell upon an idle ear. He felt that
all was over; that his last chance was gone; and that the struggle could
not be much longer protracted. Entering the inner room, he sat down at
table with his companions, but he ate nothing, and continued silent and
abstracted.
"It is now my turn to reproach you," observed Grant. "You look deeply
depressed."
"Sir Everard Digby is a prisoner," replied Catesby, sternly. "His
capture grieves me sorely. He should have died with us."
All echoed the wish.
Catesby arose and closed the door.
"The attack will not be many hours delayed," he said; "and unless there
should be some miraculous interposition in our behalf, it must end in
our defeat. Do not let us survive it," he continued earnestly. "Let us
swear to stand by each other as long as we can, and to die together."
"Agreed!" cried the others.
"And now," continued Catesby, "I must compel myself to take some
nourishment, for I have much to do."
Having swallowed a few mouthfuls of bread, and drained a goblet of wine,
he again visited every part of the habitation, examined the arms of the
men, encouraged them by his looks and words, and became satisfied,
unless some unlooked-for circumstance occurred to damp their ardour,
they would offer a determined and vigorous resistance.
"If I could only come off victorious in this last conflict, I should die
content," thought Catesby. "And I do not despair of it."
The rain continued till eleven o'clock, when it ceased, and the mist
that had attended it partially cleared off. About noon, Catesby, who was
on the look-out from the walls of the mansion, descried a large troop of
horsemen issuing from the wood. He immediately gave the alarm. The bell
was rung, and all sprang to arms.
By this time the troop had advanced within a hundred yards of the
house, and Catesby, who had rushed into the court-yard, mounted a turret
near the gate to watch their movements, and issue his commands. The
royalists were headed by Sir Richard Walsh, who was attended on the
right by Sir John Foliot, and on the left by Topcliffe. Immediately
behind them were Ketelbye, Salwaye, Conyers, and others who had
accompanied the _posse comitatus_ the day before. A trumpet was then
sounded, and a proclamation made in a loud voice by a trooper,
commanding the rebels in the King's name to surrender, and to deliver up
their leaders. The man had scarcely concluded his speech when he was for
ever silenced by a shot from Catesby.
A loud and vindictive shout was raised by the royalists, and the assault
instantly commenced. Sir Richard Walsh directed the attack against the
point opposite the drawbridge, while Sir John Foliot, Topcliffe, and the
others dispersed themselves, and completely surrounded the mansion.
Several planks were thrust across the moat, and in spite of the efforts
of the rebels many of the assailants effected a passage.
Catesby drove back the party under Sir Richard Walsh, and with his own
hand hewed asunder their plank. In doing this, he so much exposed
himself that, but for the injunctions of the Sheriff, who commanded his
followers not to fire upon him, he must have been slain.
The other rebel-leaders displayed equal courage, and equal indifference
to danger, and though, as has just been stated, a considerable number of
the royalists had got across the moat, and entered the garden, they had
obtained no material advantage. Sir John Foliot and Topcliffe commanded
this party, and encouraged them to press on. But such a continued and
well-directed firing was kept up upon them from the walls and windows of
the mansion, that they soon began to show symptoms of wavering.
At this juncture, and while Topcliffe was trying to keep his men
together, a concealed door in the wall was opened, and Catesby issued
from it at the head of a dozen men. He instantly attacked Topcliffe and
his band, put several to the sword, and drove those who resisted into
the moat. Foliot and Topcliffe with difficulty escaped across the plank,
which was seized and pulled over to his own side by Catesby.
But the hope which this success inspired was instantly crushed. Loud
shouts were raised from the opposite wing of the mansion, and Catesby to
his great dismay perceived from the volumes of smoke ascending from it
that it was on fire. Uttering an exclamation of rage and despair, he
commanded those with him not to quit their present position, and set off
in the direction of the fire.
He found that an outbuilding had been set in flames by a lighted brand
thrown across the moat by a trooper. The author of the action was named
John Streete, and was afterwards rendered notorious by another feat to
be presently related. Efforts were made to extinguish the conflagration,
but such was the confusion prevailing that it was found wholly
impossible to do so, and it was feared that the destruction of the whole
mansion would ensue.
Disaster after disaster followed. Another party had crossed the moat,
and burst into the court-yard. In the desperate conflict that ensued,
Rookwood was shot through the arm, and severely wounded by a pike, and
was borne into the house by one of his followers, whom he entreated to
kill him outright, but his request was refused.
Meantime, the drawbridge was lowered, and with loud and exulting shouts
the great body of the royalists crossed it. Catesby now perceived that
the day was irretrievably lost. Calling to Christopher Wright, who was
standing near him, to follow him, and rushing towards the court-yard, he
reached it just as the royalists gained an entrance.
In numbers both parties were pretty, well matched, but the rebels were
now thoroughly disheartened, and seeing how matters must end, many of
them threw down their arms, and begged for mercy. A destructive fire,
however, was still kept up on the royalists by a few of the rebels
stationed on the walls of the mansion, under the command of John Wright.
Putting himself at the head of a few faithful followers, Catesby fought
with all the fury of despair. Christopher Wright was shot by his side.
Grant instantly sprang forward, but was cut down by a trooper. Catesby
was too busily occupied to attend to the fate of his companions, but
seeing Thomas Winter near him, called to him to come on.
"I can fight no longer," said Thomas Winter. "My right arm is disabled
by a bolt from a cross-bow."
"Then die," cried Catesby.
"He _shall_ die--on the scaffold," rejoined Topcliffe, who had heard the
exclamation. And rushing up to Thomas Winter, he seized him, and
conveyed him to the rear of his party.
Catesby continued to fight with such determined bravery that Sir Richard
Walsh, seeing it would be vain to take him alive, withdrew his
restrictions from his men, and ordered them to slay him.
By this time most of the rebels had thrown down their arms. Those on the
walls had been dislodged, and John Wright, refusing to yield, was
slaughtered. Catesby, however, having been joined by Percy and half a
dozen men, made a last desperate charge upon his opponents.
In doing this, his sword shivered, and he would have fallen back, but
found himself surrounded. Percy was close behind him, and keeping
together, they fought back to back. Even in this disabled state, they
made a long and desperate resistance.
"Remember your oath, Percy," cried Catesby. "You have sworn not to be
taken to the scaffold."
[Illustration: _The Death of Catesby_]
"Fear nothing," replied Percy. "I will never quit this spot alive."
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when he fell to the ground
mortally wounded, and the same shot that had pierced his breast had
likewise stricken Catesby. It was fired by the trooper, John Streete,
who has just been mentioned.
Collecting all his force, Catesby struck a few terrible blows at his
opponents, and, dashing through them, made for the house. Just as he
reached the door, which was standing open, his strength failed, and he
fell to the ground. In this condition, he dragged himself into the
vestibule, where there was a large wooden statue of the Virgin, and
clasping his arms around it pressed his lips to the feet of the image.
He was followed by Streete, with his drawn sword in one hand and a
petronel in the other, prepared to finish his work. But ere he could
reach him, Catesby had expired.
"So," exclaimed Topcliffe, who came up the next moment, with Sir Richard
Walsh, "we have been robbed of our prey. The Earl of Salisbury will
never forgive me for this disappointment."
"I am glad I have done it, though," observed Streete. "To kill two such
traitors with one shot is something to talk of."
"You will be well rewarded for it, no doubt," remarked Topcliffe,
sarcastically.
"I care not whether I am or not," rejoined Streete. "I have done my
duty, and besides I have avenged my comrade, Richard Trueman, who was
shot by this traitor when he read the proclamation."
"I will take care that your brave action is duly represented to his
Majesty," observed Sir Richard Walsh.
And he failed not to keep his promise. Streete received a pension of two
shillings a day for the rest of his life--no inconsiderable sum in those
days.
The conflict was now at an end, for though some few of the more
desperate of the rebels continued to struggle after their leaders had
fallen, they were soon disarmed. Sir Richard Walsh and Topcliffe went in
search of the other conspirators, and finding Rookwood and Grant, who
though severely wounded were not dead, lying in the hall, immediately
secured them. Rookwood on their approach made an effort to plunge his
dagger into his breast, but his hand was stayed by Sir Richard Walsh.
"We shall not go away quite empty-handed," cried Topcliffe. "But these
are sorry substitutes for Catesby.
"Has Catesby escaped?" demanded Grant, faintly.
"Ay, to the other world," replied Topcliffe.
"He has kept his word," groaned Grant.
"He may have escaped some part of his punishment," said Topcliffe,
bitterly; "but the worst remains. His quarters will be exposed on every
gate in London, and his head on the bridge. As to you, traitors, you
know your doom."
"And are prepared for it," rejoined Grant.
A guard being left over the prisoners, Sir Richard Walsh and Topcliffe
then went to see that the other captives were properly secured. Some few
having made their escape into the adjoining fields, they were pursued
and recaptured.
The whole of the prisoners were then conveyed to Stourbridge, where they
were lodged in the gaol, after which Sir Richard Walsh despatched a
messenger to the Earl of Salisbury and the Lords of the Council
acquainting them with what he had done.
CHAPTER VI.
HAGLEY.
Robert Winter, it may be remembered, immediately after the explosion,
quitted Holbeach, and did not return to it. He proceeded to the
neighbouring thicket, and while wandering about in a state bordering on
distraction encountered Stephen Littleton, who had likewise deserted his
companions on the same day. Acquainting him with the disastrous
occurrence that had taken place, and stating his impression that both
God and man were against them, and that it would be vain as well as
impious to struggle longer, he proposed to him to surrender. But Stephen
Littleton so strongly combated this opinion, that he at last consented
to make an effort to escape. This, however, was no easy matter, nor
could they devise a plan that appeared feasible. Both were well provided
with money; but under present circumstances it would be of little use to
them. A large price being set on their heads, and the whole country
alarmed, they scarcely knew where to seek shelter. After a long debate,
they quitted the covert, and keeping clear of all habitations, took the
direction of Stourbridge.
On approaching the Stour, at a point opposite Churchill, where they knew
the river was fordable, they perceived Sir Richard Walsh's force
approaching, and threw themselves into a ditch to avoid observation. It
was quite dark when they again ventured forth, and at the peril of their
lives they forded the Stour, which was swollen more than it had been in
the morning by the long-continued rain. Their design was to proceed to
Hagley, the residence of Stephen Littleton's sister, Mrs. Littleton, and
to claim her protection. This magnificent mansion lay about two miles on
the other side of the river, in the heart of an extensive park, but they
were obliged to take a circuitous route of nearly double the distance to
reach it, and when at length they arrived there, and were about to
steal into the court-yard; they found it occupied by a portion of Sir
Richard Walsh's troop.
Overcome by anxiety and fatigue, and scarcely knowing whither to
proceed, they recrossed the park, and sought out the cottage of a poor
woman, whose two sons had joined their ill-fated expedition, and were at
that moment under arms at Holbeach. She was a good Catholic, and they
thought they might confide in her. Arriving at her cottage, they glanced
in at the window, and perceiving her, as they concluded, alone, and
cooking a small piece of meat at the fire, they raised the latch, and
entered the house. The woman turned at their approach, and uttering a
cry of surprise and alarm, pointed towards a back room. They then saw
that they had betrayed themselves; but the caution came too late, and a
stalwart trooper, alarmed by the cry, issued from the back room. From
the wretched appearance of the new-comers, he at once guessed that they
were rebels, and felt satisfied, from the richness of their apparel,
dirtied and stained as it was, that they were persons of consequence.
Accordingly, he drew a brace of petronels, and holding them at their
heads, commanded them to surrender.
They were too much taken by surprise, and too enfeebled to offer
resistance, and the trooper calling to the old woman to bring a cord to
bind them, at the same time unloosed his own girdle, with which he
fastened Robert Winter's arms behind his back. In doing this, he was
compelled to lay down his petronels, and he had scarcely done so, when
the woman snatched them up, and gave them to Stephen Littleton, who
presented them at his head.
It was now the turn of the conspirators to triumph. In another instant,
Robert Winter was released by the old woman, and the pair throwing
themselves upon the trooper, forced him to the ground. They then dragged
him to the back room, and stripped him of his habiliments, which Stephen
Littleton put on instead of his own attire, and binding him hand and
foot, returned to the old woman. At the request of Robert Winter, she
furnished him with a suit of clothes belonging to one of her sons, and
then set before them the best eatables she possessed. They were
ravenously hungry, and soon disposed of the viands. Meanwhile, their
hostess told them that the whole country was in arms against them; that
Mrs. Littleton being suspected, though she had always been adverse to
the design, her house had undergone a rigorous search; but that Mr.
Humphrey Littleton, not having taken any part in the insurrection, had
not as yet been arrested, though it was feared he would be proved to be
connected with the plot. She concluded by strongly counselling them to
use the utmost caution, and to expose themselves as little as possible.
They assured her she need have no apprehension on that score, and
expressed great anxiety as to what would befal her when they were pone.
"I do not desire to shed blood, if it can be helped," said Stephen
Littleton; "but in a case of necessity, like the present, where life
must be weighed against life, I hold it lawful to shed it. Shall we put
the trooper to death?"
"Not unless your own safety requires it, good sirs," she said. "I shall
quit this cottage soon after you have left it, and obtain a safe asylum
with one of my neighbours. It matters not what becomes of me. Having
lost my two sons,--for I consider them as already dead,--I have nothing
left to bind me to life."
Unable to make any reply, the conspirators remained for some time
silent, when, by the poor woman's advice, they withdrew to an upper
chamber, and stretching themselves on a bed, sought a few hours' repose.
The old woman kept watch below, and they gave her one of the petronels,
with strict injunctions to blow out the trooper's brains if he attempted
to move. Nothing, however, occurred to alarm her, and at three o'clock
she awakened them.
Offering the woman a handsome reward, which, however, she declined, they
then set out; and shortly afterwards their hostess quitted her
habitation, and withdrew to the cottage of a neighbour, where she
remained concealed for some weeks, and then died of grief on learning
that her sons had been slain during the assault of Holbeach by the
royalists.
Recruited by the rest they had enjoyed, the conspirators pursued their
course over the fields. The weather was the same as that which
disheartened their confederates at Holbeach, and the rain fell so
heavily that they had soon not a dry thread upon them. But being now
disguised, they were not under so much apprehension of detection.
Shaping their course towards Rowley Regis, in Staffordshire, which lay
about five miles from Hagley, where a farmer named Pelborrow, a tenant
of Humphrey Littleton, resided, and whom they thought would befriend
them, they proceeded swiftly on their way; but, though well acquainted
with the country, they were so bewildered and deceived by the fog, that
they strayed materially out of their course, and when it grew light
found themselves near Weoley Castle, and about four miles from
Birmingham.
Confiding in their disguises, and in their power of sustaining the
characters they assumed, they got into the high road, and approaching a
farm-house, Stephen Littleton, who had tied his companion's arms behind
him with his belt, represented himself as a trooper conveying a prisoner
from Stourbridge to Birmingham, and in consequence of this obtained a
breakfast from the farmer. After their meal was over, the host, who had
eyed them suspiciously, observed to the supposed trooper,--
"You will overtake some of your comrades before you reach Egbaston, and
had better lose no time in joining them. You are known to me, my
masters," he added, in a tone that could not be heard by the household;
"but I will not betray you. Get you gone."
The conspirators did not fail to act upon the suggestion, and as soon as
they got out of sight, struck across the county in the direction of
Rowley Regis, and arrived at the farm-house which was their destination
in about an hour.
Pelborrow chanced to be in a barn adjoining his house, and alone, and on
seeing them readily offered to hide them. No one had noticed their
approach, and carefully concealing them amid the hay in the loft, he
proceeded about his business as if nothing had happened. He could not
just then procure them provisions without exciting suspicion; but when
night arrived brought them a sufficient supply for the next day.
In this way they passed nearly a week, never venturing to stir forth,
for they had been traced to the neighbourhood, and constant search was
going on after them. Pelborrow had great difficulty in keeping his men
out of the barn, and the disappearance of the provisions excited the
suspicions of his female domestics, who began to think all was not
right. He therefore intimated to the conspirators that they must change
their quarters, and in the dead of the night, they removed to the house
of another farmer named Perkes, residing on the borders of Hagley Park,
to whom Pelborrow had confided the secret of their being in the
neighbourhood, and who, on promise of a large reward, readily undertook
to secrete them.
Perkes met them at a little distance from his house, and conducted them
to a barley-mow, where he had contrived a hiding-place amid the straw
for them. A woman-servant and a man were both let into the secret by
Perkes, and a sum of money, given him for that purpose by the
conspirators, bribed them to silence. Here they remained close
prisoners, unable to stir forth, or even to change their habiliments for
nearly six weeks, during which time they received constant intelligence
from their protector of what was going forward, and learnt that the
search for them had not relaxed. They were not without hope, however,
that the worst was over, when an incident occurred that gave them
serious uneasiness.
One night, Perkes, who was a stout, hale yeoman, and had formerly been
warrener to Mrs. Littleton, went to catch conies, with a companion named
Poynter, and returned laden with spoil. After drinking a cup or two of
ale together, the pair separated, and Poynter feeling fatigued with his
exertions, as well as drowsy with the liquor he had swallowed,
determined to pass the night in his friend's barn, and entering it,
clambered up to the loft, and laid himself in the straw. In doing this,
he slipped into the hole made for the conspirators, who, aroused by his
fall, instantly seized him. Terrified to death, and fancying he had
fallen into the hands of gipsies or other plunderers, Poynter roared
for mercy, which they were not at first disposed to show him; but the
poor wretch, finding into whose hands he had fallen, besought them in
such piteous terms to spare his life, affirming with the strongest oaths
that he would never betray them, that they consented to spare him, on
condition of his remaining with them as long as they should occupy their
place of concealment.
When Perkes appeared in the morning, he was not a little surprised at
finding his comrade caught in such a trap, but entirely approved of the
course taken by the conspirators. Poynter, as may be supposed, was no
willing captive; and being constantly pondering on the means of escape,
and of obtaining the reward for the apprehension of the conspirators, at
last hit upon the following expedient. While engaged in the poaching
expedition with Perkes, he had received a slight wound in the leg, and
the close confinement to which he was now subjected inflamed it to such
a degree as to render it highly dangerous. This he represented to the
conspirators, who, however, would not suffer him to depart; but desired
Perkes to bring him some ointment to dress his wound. The request was
complied with, and feigning that it was necessary to approach the light
to apply the salve, Poynter scrambled up the straw, apparently for that
sole purpose. He did not attempt to fly for several days; but at last,
when they were grown less suspicious, he slided down the other side of
the loft, and made good his retreat.
The conspirators saw the error they had committed when too late. Not
daring to pursue him, they remained in fearful anticipation of an arrest
throughout the day. But they were not disturbed until night, when Perkes
made his appearance. They told him what had happened; but he did not
appear to be much alarmed.
"I do not think you need be afraid of him," he said. "Let me have some
money, and I will go in quest of him at once, and bribe him to silence."
"Here are fifty marks," replied Stephen Littleton. "If that is not
enough, take more."
"It will amply suffice," replied Perkes. "I will answer for his
silence."
This assurance greatly relieved the conspirators, and they were made
completely easy by the return of Perkes in less than an hour afterwards,
who told them he had seen Poynter, and had given him the money, binding
him by the most solemn oaths not to betray them.
"I have still better news for you, my masters," he added. "Mrs.
Littleton has set out for London to-day; and I have received orders from
Mr. Humphrey Littleton to bring you to the hall at midnight."
This last intelligence completed their satisfaction, and they awaited
Perkes's return with impatience. Shortly before midnight, he came to
summon them, and they set forth together. Perkes's house lay about a
mile from the hall, and they soon entered the park. The night was clear
and frosty,--it was now the middle of December,--and as the conspirators
trod the crisp sod, and gazed at the noble but leafless trees around
them, they silently returned thanks to Heaven for their restoration to
freedom. Humphrey Littleton was waiting for them at the end of an avenue
near the mansion, and tenderly embraced them.
Tears of joy were shed on both sides, and it seemed to Humphrey
Littleton as if his brother had been restored from the grave. Dismissing
Perkes with warm thanks, and promises of a further recompence, they then
entered the house by a window, which had been left purposely open.
Humphrey Littleton conducted them to his own chamber, where fresh
apparel was provided for them; and to poor wretches who had not been
able to put off their attire for so long a period, the luxury of the
change was indescribably great.
The arrival of the fugitives was kept secret from all the household
except the man-cook, John Ocklie, upon whose fidelity Humphrey Littleton
thought he could rely. A good supper was prepared by this man, and
brought up into his master's chamber, where the conspirators were now
seated before a hearth heaped with blazing logs. The conspirators needed
no solicitation to fall to, and they did ample justice to the good
things before them. His spirits being raised by the good cheer, Robert
Winter observed to the cook, who was in attendance upon them,
"Ah! Jack, thy mistress little thinks what guests are now in her house,
who have neither seen fire nor tasted a hot morsel for well-nigh two
months."
"Ay, it is a sad matter," returned the cook, shaking his head, "and I
wish I could offer your worships a flask of wine, or a cup of stout ale
at the least. But the butler is in bed, and if I were to rouse him at
this hour it might excite his suspicion. If you are willing, sir," he
added, to Humphrey Littleton, "I will hie to my mother's cottage in the
park, and bring a jug of ale from her."
This was agreed to, and the cook left the house. His sole object,
however, was to instruct his mother to give the alarm, so that the
conspirators might be arrested before morning.
On reaching her cottage, he was surprised to see a light within it, and
two men there, one of whom was Poynter, and the other Mrs. Littleton's
steward, Robert Hazlewood. Poynter had acquainted Hazlewood with all he
knew respecting the conspirators, supposing them still in the
barley-mow, and they were discussing the best means of arresting them,
when the cook entered the house.
"The birds are flown," he said, "as you will find, if you search the
nest. But come to the hall with a sufficient force betimes to-morrow
morning, and I will show you where to find them. I shall claim, however,
my share of the reward, though I must not appear in the matter."
Having fully arranged their plan, he procured the ale from his mother,
and returned to the hall. The conspirators soon disposed of the jug,
threw themselves on a couch in the room, and instantly dropping asleep,
enjoyed such repose as only falls to the lot of those who have similarly
suffered. And it was well they did sleep soundly, for it was the last
tranquil night they ever enjoyed!
Humphrey Littleton, who, as has been stated, reposed implicit confidence
in the cook, had committed the key of the chamber to him, strictly
enjoining him to call them in the morning; and the fellow, feeling
secure of his prey, retired to rest.
About seven o'clock, he burst suddenly into the room, and with a
countenance of well-feigned alarm, which struck tenor into the breasts
of the conspirators, cried--
"Master Hazlewood and the officers are below, and say they must search
the house. Poynter is with them."
"The villain has betrayed us!" cried Stephen Littleton. "Fools that we
were to spare his life!"
"There is no use in lamenting your indiscretion now, sir," replied the
cook; "leave it to me, and I will yet effect your escape."
"We place ourselves entirely in your hands," said Stephen Littleton.
"Go down stairs, sir," said the cook to Humphrey Littleton, "and hold
Master Hazlewood in conversation for a few minutes, and I will engage to
get the gentlemen safely out of the house."
Humphrey Littleton obeyed, and descending to the steward, told him he
was willing to conduct him to every room in the house.
"I am certain they are here, and shall not quit it till I find them,"
rejoined Hazlewood. "Ah!" he exclaimed, as if struck by a sudden
thought, "you say they are not in the house. Perhaps, they are in the
garden--in the summer-house? We will go and see."
So saying, he took half-a-dozen of his men with him, leaving Poynter and
the rest with Humphrey Littleton, who was perplexed and alarmed at his
conduct.
Meanwhile, the cook led the two conspirators along the gallery, and from
thence down a back staircase, which brought them to a small door
communicating with the garden. A few seconds were lost in opening it,
and when they issued forth they encountered Hazlewood and his men, who
instantly arrested them. The unfortunate conspirators were conveyed
under a strong guard to London, where they were committed to the Tower,
to take their trial with their confederates.
CHAPTER VII.
VIVIANA'S LAST NIGHT AT ORDSALL HALL.
On the evening of the third day after quitting Dunchurch, Viviana
Radcliffe and her companions arrived at Ordsall Hall. They had
encountered many dangers and difficulties on the journey, and were
well-nigh overcome with fatigue and anxiety. Fearful of being detained,
Garnet had avoided all the larger towns in the way, and had consequently
been driven greatly out of the direct course. He had assumed the
disguise which he usually wore when travelling, that of a lawyer, and as
he possessed great mimetic talent, he sustained the character admirably.
Viviana passed for his daughter, and his servant, Nicholas Owen, who was
almost as clever an actor as his master, represented his clerk, while
the two attendants performed the parts of clients. At Abbots'-Bromley,
where they halted for refreshment on the second day, having spent the
night at a small village near Lichfield, they were detained by the
landlord, who entertained some suspicions of them; but Garnet succeeded
in frightening the man into allowing them to depart. They underwent
another alarm of the same kind at Leek, and were for two hours locked
up. But on the arrival of a magistrate, who had been sent for by the
host, Garnet gave so plausible an account of himself that the party were
instantly set at liberty, and arrived without further molestation at
their journey's end.
Viviana's last visit to the hall had been sad enough, but it was not so
sad as the present. It was a dull November evening, and the wind moaned
dismally through the trees, scattering the yellow leaves on the ground.
The house looked forlorn and desolate. No smoke issued from the
chimneys, nor was there any external indication that it was inhabited.
The drawbridge was down, and as they passed over it, the hollow
trampling of their steeds upon the planks vibrated painfully upon
Viviana's heart. Before dismounting, she cast a wistful look around, and
surveyed the grass-grown and neglected court, where, in years gone by,
she had sported; the moat on whose brink she had lingered; and the
surrounding woods, which she had never looked upon, even on a dreary day
like the present, and when they were robbed in some measure of their
beauty, without delight. Scanning the deserted mansion from roof to
foundation, she traced all its gables, angles, windows, doors, and
walls, and claimed every piece of carved work, every stone as a familiar
object, and as associated with other and happier hours.
"It is but the wreck of what it was," she thought. "The spirit that
animated it is fled. Grass grows in its courts--no cheerful voices echo
in its chambers--no hospitality is maintained in its hall--but neglect,
gloom, and despair claim it as their own. The habitation and its
mistress are well matched."
Guessing from the melancholy expression of her countenance what was
passing within, and thinking it advisable to turn the current of her
thoughts, Garnet assisted her to alight, and committing the care of
their steeds to Owen and the others, proceeded with her to the principal
entrance. Everything appeared in nearly the same state as when they had
last seen it, and the only change that had taken place was for the
worse. The ceilings were mapped and mildewed with damps; the
once-gorgeously stained glass was shivered in the windows; the costly
arras hung in tattered fragments from the walls; while the floors, which
were still strewn with plaster and broken furniture, were flooded with
the moisture that had found its way through the holes in the roof.
"Bear up, dear daughter," said Garnet, observing that Viviana was
greatly distressed by the sight, "and let the contemplation of this
scene of havoc, instead of casting you down, inspire you with just
indignation against enemies from whom it is vain to expect justice or
mercy. How many Catholic mansions have been thus laid waste! How many
high-born and honourable men, whose sole fault was their adherence to
the religion of their fathers, and their refusal to subscribe to
doctrines against which their consciences revolted, have been put to
death like your father; nay, have endured a worse fate, for they have
languished out their lives in prison, while their families and retainers
have undergone every species of outrage! How many a descendant of a
proud line, distinguished for worth, for loyalty, and for devotion, has
stood, as you now stand, upon his desolate hearth--has seen misery and
ruin usurp the place of comfort and happiness--and has heard the very
stones beneath his feet cry out for vengeance. Accursed be our
oppressors!" he added, lifting up his hands, and elevating his voice.
"May their churches be thrown down--their faith crushed--their rights
invaded--their children delivered to bondage--their hearths laid waste,
as ours have been. May this, and worse come to pass, till the whole
stock of heresy is uprooted!"
"Hold, father!" exclaimed Viviana, "even here, beholding this miserable
sight, and with feelings keenly excited, I cannot join in your terrible
denunciation. What I hope for--what I pray for, is toleration, not
vengeance. The sufferings of our brethren will not have been in vain, if
they enable our successors to worship God in their own way, and
according to the dictates of their consciences. The ruthless conduct of
our persecutors must be held in as much abhorrence by all good
Protestants as our persecution of that sect, when we were in the
ascendant, is regarded by all worthy members of our own Church. I cannot
believe that by persecution we can work out the charitable precepts
inculcated by our Saviour, and I am sure such a course is as adverse to
the spirit of religion as it is to that of humanity. Let us bear our
sorrows with patience,--let us utter no repinings, but turn the other
cheek to the smiter, and we shall find, in due time, that the hearts of
our oppressors will relent, and that all the believers in the True God
will be enabled to worship him in peace, though at different altars."
"Such a season will never arrive, daughter," replied Garnet, severely,
"till heresy is extirpated, and the false doctrines now prevailing
utterly abolished. Then, indeed, when the Church of Rome is
re-established, and the old and true religion restored, universal peace
will prevail. And let me correct the grievous and sinful error into
which you have fallen. Our church is always at war with heresy; and if
it cannot uproot it by gentle means, authorizes, nay enjoins the
employment of force."
"I will not attempt to dispute with you upon points of faith, father,"
returned Viviana; "I am content to think and act according to my own
feelings and convictions. But I will not give up the hope that in some
milder and wiser age, persecution on either side will cease, and the
sufferings of its victims be remembered only to soften the hearts of
fanatics, of whatever creed, towards each other. Were a lesson wanting
to ourselves, surely it might be found in the result that has attended
your dark and criminal enterprise, and in which the disapproval of
Heaven has been signally manifested."
"Not so, daughter," replied Garnet. "An action is not to be judged or
justified by the event attending it, but by its own intrinsic merits. To
aver the contrary were to throw a doubt upon the Holy Scriptures
themselves, where we read in the Book of Judges that the eleven tribes
of Israel were commanded to make war upon the tribe of Benjamin, and yet
were twice defeated. We have failed. But this proves nothing against our
project, which I maintain to be righteous and praiseworthy, undertaken
to overthrow an heretical and excommunicated monarch, and to
re-establish the true faith of the Most High throughout this land."
"I lament to find that you still persist in error, father," replied
Viviana; "but you cannot by any sophistry induce me to coincide with you
in opinion. I hold the attempt an offence alike against God and man, and
while I rejoice at the issue that has attended it, I deplore the
irreparable harm it will do to the whole body of Catholics, all of whom
will be connected, by the bigoted and unthinking of the hostile party,
with the atrocious design. Not only have you done our cause an injury,
but you have in a measure justified our opponents' severity, and given
them a plea for further persecution."
"No more of this, daughter," rejoined Garnet, impatiently, "or I shall
deem it necessary to reprove you. Let us search the house, and try to
find some habitable chamber in which you can pass the night."
After a long search, they discovered a room in comparatively good order,
and leaving Viviana within it, Garnet descended to the lower part of the
house, where he found Nicholas Owen, and the two other attendants.
"We have chanced upon a scanty supply of provender for our steeds,"
remarked Owen, with a doleful look; "but we are not likely to obtain a
meal ourselves, unless we can feed upon rats and mice, which appear to
be the sole tenants of this miserable dwelling."
"You must go to Manchester instantly, and procure provisions," returned
Garnet. "But take heed you observe the utmost caution."
"Fear nothing," replied Owen, "If I am taken, your reverence will lose
your supper--that is all."
He then set out upon his errand, and Garnet proceeded to the kitchen,
where, to his great surprise, he found the hearthstone still warm, and a
few lighted embers upon it, while crumbs of bread, and little fragments
of meat scattered about, proved that some one had taken a meal there.
Startled by this discovery, he continued his search, but as fruitlessly
as before; and though he called to any one who might be hidden to come
forth, the summons was unanswered. One of the attendants had placed a
few sticks upon the smouldering ashes, and on returning to the kitchen,
it was found that they had kindled. A fire being thus obtained, some of
the broken furniture was used to replenish it, and by Garnet's commands
another fire was speedily lighted in Viviana's chamber. Night had now
come on, and Owen not returning, Garnet became extremely uneasy, and had
almost given him up, when the absentee made his appearance, with a large
basket of provisions under his arm.
"I have had some difficulty in obtaining them," he said; "and fancying I
observed two persons following me, was obliged to take a circuitous
route to get back. The whole town is in commotion about the plot, and it
is said that the most rigorous measures are to be adopted towards all
the Catholic families in the neighbourhood."
Sighing at the latter piece of intelligence, Garnet selected such
provisions as he thought would be acceptable to Viviana, and took them
upstairs to her. She ate a little bread, and drank a cup of water, but
refused to taste anything else, and finding it in vain to press her,
Garnet returned to the kitchen, where, being much exhausted, he
recruited himself with a hearty meal and a cup of wine.
Left alone, Viviana knelt down, and clasping a small crucifix to her
breast, prayed long and fervently. While she was thus engaged, she heard
the door open gently behind her, and turning her head, beheld an old
man clothed in a tattered garb, with long white hair flowing over his
shoulders, and a beard of the same snowy hue descending upon his breast.
As he advanced slowly towards her, she started to her feet, and a
brighter flame arising at the moment from the fire, it illumined the
intruder's wobegone features.
"Is it possible!" she exclaimed,--"can it be my father's old steward,
Jerome Heydocke?"
"It is, indeed, my dear young mistress," replied the old man, falling on
his knee before her. "Heaven be praised!" he continued, seizing her
hand, and bedewing it with tears; "I have seen you once again, and shall
die content."
"I never expected to behold you more, good Heydocke," returned Viviana,
raising him. "I heard you had died in prison."
"It was so given out by the jailers, to account for my escape," replied
the old steward; "and I took care never to contradict the report by
making my appearance. I will not distress you by the recital of all I
have endured, but will simply state that I was confined in the prison
upon Hunt's Bank, whence I escaped in the night by dropping upon the
rocks, and from them into the river, where it was supposed I was
drowned. Making my way into the country, I concealed myself for a time
in barns and out-buildings, until, at length, I ventured back to the old
house, and have dwelt in it unmolested ever since. I should have
perished of want long ago, but for the kindness of Mr. Humphrey Chetham.
He used to send my son regularly to me with provisions; and, now that
Martin is gone to London, on business, as I understood, relating to you,
he brings them to me himself. He will be here to-morrow."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Viviana. "I must see him."
"As you please," returned the old man. "I suppose those are your
companions below. I was in my hiding-place, and hearing voices and
footsteps, did not dare to venture forth till all was still. On
approaching this room, which I have been in the habit of occupying
lately, and peeping through the door, which was standing ajar, I
perceived a female figure, and thinking it must be you, though I
scarcely dared to trust the evidence of my senses, I ventured in. Oh! my
dear, dear young mistress, what a joy it is to see you again! I fear you
must have suffered much, for you are greatly altered."
At this moment, Garnet entered the room. He started on seeing the old
steward. But an explanation was instantly given him.