"John Johnson." To this he adhered through two more examinations.
"How old are you?"
"Thirty-six." This was true.
"Where were you born?"
"In Netherdale, in the county of York."
"How have you lived hitherto?"
"By a farm of thirty pounds a year."
"How came those wounds in your breast?"
"They are scars from the healing of a pleurisy."
The treatment of pleurisy in the seventeenth century was apparently
rather severe.
Fawkes went on to reply to the articles demanded, that he had never
served any man but Percy--though he had been in the service of Anthony
Browne, Lord Montague, a few months before: that he obtained Percy's
service "only by his own means, being a Yorkshire man"; that he had
learned French in England, and increased it when abroad; that he was
born a Papist, and not perverted--which was false.
Being asked why he was addressed as "Mr Fauks" in a letter (as he
alleged) from Mrs Colonel Bostock, which was found in his pocket, Mr
"Johnson" replied with the coolest effrontery, that it was because he
had called himself so in Flanders, where Mrs Bostock resided. This
letter was subsequently discovered to come from Anne Vaux.
Thus far went King James's queries: in respect of which the King desired
"if he will no other ways confesse, the gentle tortours to be first used
unto him, _et sic per gradus ad ima tenditur_; and so God speede your
good work!"
It was not, however, necessary to urge a confession: Mr Percy's man
seemed anxious to make a clean breast of it, and promised to tell
everything. He proceeded accordingly to lead his examiners astray by a
little truth and a good deal of falsehood. He gave a tolerably accurate
account of the hiring of the house and the cellar, the bringing in of
the powder, etcetera, except that he refrained from implicating any one
but himself. There was, at first, a certain air of nobility about
Fawkes, and he sternly refused to become an informer. He declined to
admit his summer journey abroad, and would not allow that the spring
excursion had any other object than "to see the country and pass away
the time."
"What would you have done," asked the examiners, "with the Queen and the
royal issue?"
"If they had been there, I would not have helped them."
"If all had gone, who would have been published or elected King?"
"We never entered into that consideration."
"What form of government should have succeeded?"
"We were too few to enter into the consideration. The people themselves
would have drawn to a head." All this was untrue, as Fawkes
subsequently allowed. A number of arrests were made, mostly of innocent
persons. All in whose houses the conspirators had lodged. Mrs
Herbert, Mrs More, the tailor Patrick; Mrs Wyniard, Mrs Bright, and
their respective servants; Lord Northumberland's gentlemen, and the Earl
himself, were put under lock and key. The poor Earl bemoaned himself
bitterly, and entreated that Percy might be searched for--"who alone
could show him clear as the day, or dark as the night." He asserted
that Percy had obtained money from him by falsehood: and seeing how
exquisitely little value most of these worthy gentlemen seem to have set
upon truth, it was not at all unlikely. Lady Northumberland wrote an
impulsive letter to Lord Salisbury, entreating him to stand her friend
by "salving" her husband's reputation, "much wounded in the opinion of
the world by this wretched cousin": but the only result of the appeal
was to make the Lord Treasurer angry, and give rise to an intercession
in her behalf from her lord and master, who begs Salisbury to "bear with
her because she is a woman," and therefore "not able with fortitude to
bear out the crosses of the world as men are: and," adds the Earl
humorously, "she will sometimes have her own ways, let me do what I can,
which is not unknown to you." [Note 1.]
The prisoners were remanded, and the great metropolis slept: but there
was no sleep for those bemired and weary horsemen who pressed on that
night journey to Norbrook. Where Grant joined them is not recorded, but
Humphrey Littleton had left them at Dunchurch. His share in the plot
had been insignificant, but we shall hear of him again. Catesby, John
Wright, and Percy, who rode in front, beguiled their journey by a
discussion as to how they could procure fresh horses. They were
approaching Warwick, and it was proposed that Grant and some of the
servants should be sent on in front, with instructions to make a raid on
a livery-stable in the town, kept by a man named Bennock, and seize as
many horses as they could get.
Robert Winter, riding behind, saw the men sent on, and pressing forward
to the front, inquired the meaning of it. When told the intention, he
combated it strongly, and did his best to dissuade Catesby from it. The
man who had swallowed the camel of the Gunpowder Plot was scandalised at
the idea of horse-stealing! [Note 2.]
"I pray you, no more of this!" said Robert Winter. "It will but further
increase the wrath of the King."
"Some of us may not look back," said Catesby.
Robert replied with some spirit, for he knew himself to be among the
less guilty of the plotters. "Yet others, I hope, may; and therefore, I
beg you, let this alone."
Catesby looked up with a faint, sad smile, and tired sleepless eyes.
"What, hast thou any hope, Robin? I assure thee, there is none that
knoweth of this action but shall perish."
When the body of the conspirators reached Warwick, about 3 a.m., the
horses were almost ready for them to mount. Ten were seized at the the
livery-stable, and a few more were either stolen or borrowed from the
Castle. Thus provided, and now about eighty in number, they rode on to
Grant's house at Norbrook. On arrival here, they despatched Bates to
Coughton, with a letter to Garnet from Digby. This letter was read by
Garnet to Greenway, both of whom are represented by Bates as spotlessly
ignorant of the plot until that moment. Greenway returned with Bates,
at his earnest request, attired in "coulored satten done with gould
lace," and was met by Catesby with the exclamation--
"Here is a gentleman who will live and die with us!"
From Norbrook Robert Winter despatched a servant in advance, summarily
ordering his wife to "go forth of the house, and take the children with
her," which the obedient Gertrude did. About two o'clock on the
afternoon of the sixth, thirty-six worn-out men arrived at Huddington,
to be re-armed from Robert Winter's armoury; after which, finding
himself rather at a loss in the housekeeping department, the master of
the house recalled his Gertrude to minister to the comfort of himself
and his guests.
That submissive lady did her duty, and leaving the children with the
neighbour at whose house she had taken refuge, returned to her own
kitchen to superintend a hastily-prepared supper for the weary
travellers. Before this was ready, Catesby and John Wright took Robert
Winter aside, and tried hard to induce him to write to his
father-in-law, attempting to draw him into the now almost hopeless
rebellion.
"There is no remedy, Robin," said John Wright, "but thou must write a
letter to thy father Talbot, to see if thou canst therewith draw him
unto us."
"Nay, that will I not," was the determined answer.
"Robin, you must," said Catesby.
"My masters, ye know not my father Talbot so well as I," replied Robin
Winter. "All the world cannot draw him from his allegiance. Neither
would I if I could, in this case. What friends hath my poor wife and
children but he? And therefore, satisfy yourselves; I will not."
"Well, then," suggested Wright, "write as we shall say unto thee to
Master Smallpiece, that serves thy father Talbot."
Robert Winter, who liked an easy life, suffered himself to be persuaded
on this point; and wrote the letter, of which all that now remains is a
few half-burnt lines, written in great haste, and barely legible:
"Good Cousin, I fear it will not seem strange to you that--a good number
of resolved Catholics so perform matters of such... will set their most
strength, or hang all those that ever... use your best endeavour to stir
up my father Talbot... which I hold much more honourable than to be
hanged after... Cousin, pray for me, I pray you, and send me all such
friends... haste, I commend you. From Huddington, this 6th of
November."
"R..."
Having written this letter, Mr Robert Winter proceeded, not to forward,
but to pocket it, and declined to give it up until the next morning,
when he resigned it, "to stop a peace withal."
Late in the evening of the 6th, the conspirators were joined by Stephen
Littleton and Thomas Winter, the latter of whom had not been able to
overtake them any sooner. Before daybreak on the following morning,
they assembled in the private chapel of Huddington House, where mass was
sung by the family confessor, Mr Hammond, and the Sacrament was
administered to all present after due confession. Then, leaving
Huddington about sunrise, they recommenced their weary flight.
They were now "armed at all points in open rebellion," yet with daggers
and guns only. Instead of continuing their course, as hitherto,
directly westward, they turned towards the north, and made for Hewell
Grange, the residence of Lord Windsor, where they plundered the armoury.
The company had much decreased: one and another every now and then
dropped off stealthily, doubtful of what was coming, though Catesby and
Sir Everard rode pistol in hand, warning them that all who sought to
steal away would be shot without quarter. Percy, Grant, John Wright,
and Morgan, were placed behind for the same purpose. As the party rode
towards Hewell Grange, they asked all whom they met to join them. The
usual response was--
"We are for King James; if you go for him, then will we have with you."
To this the conspirators were wont to reply--"We go for God and the
country."
But the shrewd Worcestershire peasants declined to commit themselves to
anything so vague as this.
At last they came to an old countryman, to whom they addressed their
customary appeal. The old man planted his staff firmly in front of him,
and set his back against a wall.
"I am for King James," he said, "for whom I will live and die."
Upon this the disloyalty of the company was plainly manifested by shouts
of "Kill him! kill him!" But there was no time to stop for that, which
probably saved the brave old loyalist's life.
Upon leaving Hewell, the conspirators rode up to the houses of all the
Roman Catholic gentry in the neighbourhood, and summoned their owners to
join them for God and the Church. But sore disappointments met them on
every side. From door after door they were driven with horror and
contumely--were openly told that "they had brought ruin on the Catholic
cause."
"Not one man came to take our part," is their lament, "though we had
expected so many." To add to their misery, the rain began to pour down
in torrents; one after another deserted them as they fled: and when at
last in the darkness the heath was passed, and Holbeach House was
reached, instead of the gallant company of eighty well-accoutred troops
who had left Norbrook the morning before, there crept into the
court-yard only eighteen wet and weary men, who had lost all, including
honour.
Holbeach House was about two miles from Stourbridge, and was the home of
Stephen Littleton, one of the latest to join the plot. Here the
worn-out men slept--the last sleep for some of them.
So weary and worn-out were they, that they sank to sleep just as they
were, in the dining-room--some pillowing their heads on the table,
others casting themselves on the floor. At this very unsuitable moment,
it seemed good to Mr John Winter to inquire of Percy what he meant to
do. [Note 3.]
Percy, in extremely somnolent tones, answered that he intended to go on.
"Ay, but how and whither?" responded Thomas Winter, as wide awake as he
usually was in all senses.
"If you have e'er a plan in your head, out with it," replied Percy.
"Just now, I've no head to put one in."
"If you will hearken to me," said Thomas, "you will now despatch Robin's
letter to my cousin Smallpiece."
"What to do?"
"`What to do'!--to win his aid. He is as true a Catholic as any of us."
"Ay, he's Catholic, but he is very timorous. He has no mind to be
hanged, trust me."
"Have you?"
"I should stand to it better than he. Then you'll meet old Master
Talbot, who shall kick you forth ere you have time to say, `An't please
you.'"
"I'll have a care of that. Steenie, wilt have with me?"
Mr Stephen Littleton had to be awoke before he could answer the
question. As soon as he understood what was demanded of him, he
professed his readiness to accompany anybody anywhere in the future, so
long as he might be let alone to finish his nap at the present. Before
another sentence had been uttered, he reverted to an unconscious state.
Suddenly Sir Everard sprang up.
"Mr Catesby, methinks I shall best serve you if I go to hasten the
succours. What think you?"
"If you will," said Catesby, for once a little doubtfully.
Ten minutes later, one of the least wearied horses in the group carried
him away.
There were troops on their way to Holbeach, but it was not for succour.
Sir Richard Walsh, the Sheriff, Sir John Folliott, a few gentlemen, and
a party of the King's troops, with all the force of the county, were on
the track of the wretched fugitives. They had chased them from
Northamptonshire into Warwickshire, from Warwickshire into
Worcestershire, and now they were approaching their last refuge in
Staffordshire.
It was still dark on the Friday morning, when Thomas Winter and Stephen
Littleton rode to Pepperhill, where old Mr Talbot was at that time.
Robert declined to accompany them, and Bates excused himself. To obtain
sight of Mr Smallpiece, without being seen by Mr Talbot, was the
delicate business on which they were bent. Leonard Smallpiece seems to
have been an agent or bailiff of Mr Talbot, and a relative of the
Winters; he was "exceeding popishe, but very timorous." [Note 4.] The
pair of worthies settled that Stephen should remain outside in charge of
the horses, while Winter tried to effect safe entrance. They rode up to
the yard door, and having dismounted, were about to investigate
possibilities, when without any warning the doors were flung open, and
the sturdy old loyalist owner appeared behind them.
"How dare you come hither?" was his fierce greeting to the unwelcome
visitors, "considering what speech there is of your tumultuous rising."
"Sir," answered Winter, deprecatingly, "my meaning was not to speak with
you, but with one in your house; and I am very sorry I have met with
you."
"So am I, too!" said John Talbot. "Your coming may be as much as my
life is worth. It is very fit you should be taken."
"I shall not easily be taken," was the reply.
"Fare you well! Get you away!" answered Talbot, as he slammed the gate
in Winter's face.
They came to the conclusion that discretion would be the better part of
valour, and retraced their steps to Holbeach. Here Stephen went into
the house, leaving Winter outside. The former found his friends very
busily engaged in making preparations for resistance, for they had now
determined that at Holbeach their last stand should be made. Their
gunpowder, like themselves, had been soaked in the rain, the Stour being
extremely high, and the cart which they had stolen from Hewell Grange a
very low one. Catesby, Rookwood, and Grant, applied themselves to the
drying of the powder. They laid about sixteen pounds of it in a linen
bag on the floor, and heaping about two pounds on a platter, placed it
in the chimney-corner to dry by the fire. A servant entering to put
fresh logs on the fire, was not sufficiently careful of the platter. A
spark flew out, lighted on the powder, and it exploded. Part of the
roof was blown off, the linen bag was carried through the hole thus
made, and afterwards taken up uninjured in the court-yard: but the three
powder-dryers, with Henry Morgan, were severely injured both in face and
body. In the same pit that they had dug privily, was their own foot
taken.
When the conspirators thus beheld themselves "hoist with their own
petard," the first feeling among them was less fear for their safety
than awe at the just judgment of God. The most guilty among them were
also the most horrified. For a moment those nearest the powder were
supposed to be killed. John Wright lost his head, flung himself on what
he believed to be the corpse of his leader, with a wild cry--
"Woe worth the time that we have seen this day! Bring me the powder!
bring me the powder, that I may set it afire, and blow up ourselves and
this house together!"
Rookwood rushed to a picture of the Virgin, and throwing himself on his
knees, confessed "that the act was so bloody that he desired God to
forgive him;" in which prayer he was joined by some of the others.
Catesby himself lost his firmness, and on recovering himself, gasped out
his fear that God disapproved of their project. Robert Winter and
Greenway fled in terror--so far that they never came back. Stephen
Littleton went off also, but he waited long enough to send a message to
Thomas Winter, who had not yet come in.
"Tell him to fly," said the valiant Stephen, "and so will I."
Whatever else Thomas Winter was, he was loyal to his oath and to his
friends.
"His honour rooted in dishonour stood,
And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true."
He supposed the news to mean that Catesby was killed.
"Nay," said he; "I will first see the body of my friend and bury him,
whatsoever befall me."
Returning to the house, Winter found his friends decidedly alive and
"reasonable well."
"What resolve you to do?" he asked them.
"We mean here to die," was the answer.
"Well!" replied Winter, "I will take such part as you do."