IN THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS.
Some leagues from London, in the shire of Buckingham, was situated the
country residence of Sir Everard Digsby, who, with Catesby, Wright and
Percy, was present at the house of the latter on the night in which
Fawkes reached the city, whither he had been summoned by a letter from
Sir Thomas Winter. The dwelling of the young nobleman, being somewhat
remote from the more populous districts of the shire, seemed a fitting
place for such discussion, and, perchance, of more weighty matters,
pertaining to the fast-growing conspiracy against the King and his
Parliament. This place Winter had suggested to Garnet as the safest
spot for the Catholic gentlemen to assemble for the discussion of
their plan.
'Twas the custom that those noblemen whose wealth afforded them two
dwellings, one in London and another in the rural districts, should
oft entertain at the latter such of their companions as pleased them;
and these, riding forth from the city, singly or in goodly numbers,
might pass but a single night, but sometimes when occasion served, a
fortnight, in merrymaking at their host's expense. Such being a common
practice throughout the kingdom little danger of causing suspicion lay
in the fact that Winter, Rookwood, Catesby, Wright and such others as
had been admitted to their council, departed from London in company.
Garnet, indeed, had ridden on before them, attended by Sir Digsby and
Fawkes, nor had any noted their departure; or, if perchance they did,
were not disposed to comment upon it.
A staunch Catholic and a zealous follower of the Jesuits, Everard
Digsby had lent himself willingly to the cause of his brother
churchmen, having long ago satisfied himself that their actions were
justified. In fact, his present convictions were to some extent the
outcome of early teachings, for even at a tender age his mind had been
under Catholic influence, and therefore it was not strange that on
reaching manhood he should be a strong adherent of Romish doctrine.
And still further, his attitude was less to be wondered at, when
considered that the seeds of these same convictions were planted by no
other hand than the friend, tutor and spiritual adviser of his
youth--Henry Garnet. In truth, he had surpassed the zeal of many
associates, for being denied the full privilege of such worship as his
faith taught him, he had caused to be erected within the walls of his
country residence a small chapel, fitted up under supervision of the
Superior of the English Jesuits.
Somewhat early in the evening the little cavalcade rode into
Buckinghamshire, and having reached their destination, were received
with much cordiality by the young nobleman and his more austere
companions. The ride from London, on account of the inclemency of the
weather, had been most disagreeable, and the travelers were nothing
loth to stretch their chilled limbs before the great fire prepared in
readiness for their arrival, and to partake heartily of the well
ordered refreshments which their host had caused to be in waiting.
Having satisfied the carnal man, they were the more willing to turn to
the spiritual repast which had drawn them together; for in each mind
the conviction was strong that in plotting against the King they were
but serving the ends of God.
"Good gentlemen," said Garnet, the company having drawn about the fire
in a room somewhat remote from the more inhabited part of the
dwelling, "having partaken so freely of worthy Everard's hospitality,
it is most fitting that we turn for a season to that which has
summoned us from London. Methinks there be none absent?"
Catesby ran his eyes over the group about him, checking each off on
his fingers. "Winter, my Lord of Rookwood, good Percy, Wright, Francis
Tresham and Master Guido," said he, "these with Your Reverence, Sir
Everard and myself, make up the number--nine."
"'Tis well," exclaimed Garnet, fixing his eyes for an instant on the
face of each. "Certain things have arisen which render it most
expedient that we make common cause with each other--what think ye?"
"That the time is ripe for the maturing of such plans as best are
suited to our purpose," replied Rookwood; "James hath again declared
against us."
"'Tis even so," broke in Percy, "and at the house of Master Fawkes
when thou wert absent, there arose some discussion as to certain ways
and methods best fitted to----"
"Ah!" cried Winter, looking toward the corner where was seated the
soldier of fortune, with his chin upon his hand; "the opportunity has
not served since our last meeting to inquire concerning thy good
mother and thy daughter, friend Guido. Tell me, I pray, did the
gathering of so many armed men in thy chamber disturb their slumbers?"
"Nay," replied Fawkes, gruffly; "the dame knew nothing of it; neither
my daughter, of that----"
"And the lass," continued Winter, eyeing the man closely, "is she well
and cheerful as becomes her youth and loveliness?"
"As to cheerfulness," answered the other, a shade of sadness coming
into his face, "methinks the merry smile hath forever forsaken her
lips, for now she looketh so pale and wan it doth seem but the shadow
of her former self wandering about the house; but thank God, the worst
is over, and she is on the road to recovery."
"And hath Mistress Elinor been ill?" inquired Winter, turning a
surprised look toward the speaker.
"I had deemed," answered Fawkes, "that my absence from thy house for
nigh on to a week would indicate to thee that something was amiss. I
every day expected to----"
"For truth," broke in the other in a relieved tone, "had I known that
thy daughter lay ill I would for a surety have called. But, pray, tell
me; is she better now?"
"As I have said, she is better; but not herself as yet. In fact, it
was on the night of the meeting at my dwelling, after ye had all
departed, that I went for a breath of air upon the street
and--and--well, it was when I returned that I found the girl in a high
fever, and looking much as though she had beheld a foe. The fever
spent itself in three days; now, 'tis but the after weakness which
afflicts her."
"Thank God for her recovery!" exclaimed Winter, as he eyed Fawkes
narrowly; but finding nothing in his countenance to arouse alarm, sank
back in his chair with a sigh of relief.
"And now," said Garnet, who had listened with attention to the
dialogue, "since thy last words have banished from my mind the anxiety
called forth by the recital of thy fair daughter's illness, we may
again turn our thoughts toward other matters, and listen to good
Catesby here."
"As thou knowest," began Catesby, "it hath ever been my desire to act
quickly. Therefore I would suggest that no time be lost in carrying
out such designs as will rid the kingdom of our enemies."
"Well spoken," cried Digsby; "to that we are agreed."
Garnet smiled sadly. "Would that all England cried amen!" said he,
solemnly. Then turning suddenly to Fawkes, "and thou, Master Guido,
what sayest thou?"
The soldier of fortune looked up quickly. "I am ever ready," said he,
"whether we deal with all those in authority, or with the King alone."
"Then?" cried Winter, "then?----"
Garnet cast down his eyes, the soul of the priest struggling with dark
apprehensions which arose within him. "If there were any shadow of sin
in it," he murmured, "I would not countenance the bringing of it to an
issue. No other reason hath drawn me into it save ardent and active
interest in the cause of God." Then facing his companions he
continued: "'Tis the will of Christ that in the hands of His weakest
subjects shall be placed the sword of vengeance which shall sweep
these infidels from the land. Good Catesby hath oft pondered in his
mind, with some impatience, the meaning of my check upon his zeal.
'Twas that I might seek through prayer a way to our deliverance. That
the time is near a revelation hath been vouchsafed to me from heaven."
A murmur ran through the little company. The priest's voice changed
from tones of solemnity to those of one who spake with authority; and
stretching forth the hand, he said: "We are of one mind. Perchance
Master Fawkes hath opened a way whereby shall be destroyed both the
King and his Parliament. What can effect our purpose quicker than the
flash of gunpowder? God hath placed it in our hand for us to use, and
do His will. Yet other things remain; the door being opened, will
those who watch us from abroad unite with us in restoring to this
unhappy England its altars and its sacrifices? Sir Thomas Winter, thou
hast been in France and Spain to do man's bidding; wouldst go thither
in obedience to the will of God?"
Winter started, for the meaning of the other's words implied much. "Is
it a mission?" he asked, fixing his gaze upon the Jesuit.
"Aye!" replied Garnet; "a mission of much danger, and one which will
need all secrecy. At the Court of France dwell certain members of my
Order, close to the King, and deep in affairs of State. Before them I
will lay our undertaking, that when England shall be without a
government and all the land involved in perplexity and beset with
controversies, the armies of the Catholic Kings may come among us--the
way being prepared for their entrance."
A murmur of approval burst from Catesby, Rookwood and Percy. "And if
Sir Winter hesitates," cried the former, "I will----"
"Say no more," interrupted Winter; "this day week will see me at the
Court of France."
"And thou, friend Guido," said Garnet, blandly, "thou art of ready
wit, and a good sword may be needful. Shall brave Winter go alone?"
Fawkes knitted his brows--"I little thought to again leave England so
soon," he replied, gruffly; "yet ere another sunset will I be ready if
thus I may serve the cause."
A look of kindliness came into the Jesuit's eyes; the blind zeal of
the man, a zeal that thrust all other thoughts aside, touched him, and
with quick perception he saw in the rough cavalier one who, did all
others fail, would with his single hand hurl the thunderbolt. Taking
from his bosom a small silver crucifix, he laid it in Fawkes' hand.
"Give this," said he, quietly, "unto thy daughter; 'twill guard her
during thine absence. Aye! and dost thou fear to leave her? I swear to
thee, I will see to it that she lacketh nothing."
Fawkes turned upon him a look of deep devotion. Bred in superstition,
the fact that the priest understood that which troubled him--fear for
the safety of his daughter--seemed a sign from heaven. He kissed the
crucifix reverently, and put it in his bosom between the hard steel of
his cuirass and his heart.
Garnet turned to the group. "One thing remains," said he solemnly;
"'tis the oath which, registered before heaven, shall hold each to his
purpose. Sir Digsby, let us to thy chapel, that beneath the shadow of
the cross we may seek that blessing without which all our deeds are
sinful, and our purposes as sand."
Solemnly the little company, headed by the priest and Sir Everard,
wended their way toward the chapel. No words were exchanged between
them, for all were deep in thought. As they passed into the chamber
set aside for worship, each reverently knelt and crossed himself, then
took up a position in front of the altar. As it was late and the brief
winter twilight faded from the sky, the chapel lay shrouded in deep
gloom, relieved only by the red light burning in a hanging lamp
suspended before the tabernacle, holding the consecrated elements. To
the men there was something fearfully solemn in their surroundings.
Before them stood that altar for the preservation of which they were
about to pledge their lives.
As their eyes became more accustomed to the subdued light, they beheld
shadow-like forms slowly appear upon the walls, and while intently
gazing, these apparitions gradually materialized and assumed definite
shape, resolving themselves into paintings portraying the last scenes
in the life of Christ. Penetrating everything was the clinging odor of
incense, which, in some subtle way, brings to mind the awful majesty
of God.
Presently Garnet emerged from the sacristy, bearing in his hand a
flaming taper with which he lighted the candles on the altar. The
Jesuit had placed over the costume which he wore a cope of deep red,
richly embroidered with gold, and evidently the priest had not even
laid aside his rapier, for its dull clank could be heard as he walked
about. The rattle of the steel broke discordantly upon the deep
silence, but was it not symbolic? A deed of violence was about to be
committed, cloaked in the garb of religion!
Finishing his task, he knelt before the altar in silent prayer. Then
arising, he passed to the gate of the rood screen, where his
commanding figure was thrown into bold relief by the altar lights.
Presently seating himself, he said in low and solemn tones to the men
kneeling in the darkness: "Consider well, my brethren, the step ye are
about to take; for he who turns back will be likened unto the woman
who glanced over her shoulder at a city burning;--to pillars of craven
cowardice would ye be changed--monuments to mark how men, even when
their duty shone clear as though emblazoned on the azure vault of
heaven, lacked heart to carry it out. Consider it well, then, all of
you!"
The deep voice of the priest rose as he uttered the last words, and
its resonant tone returned in echoes from the vaulted ceiling as if
each statued saint from out his niche cried: "Consider it well."
"Are ye all prepared?" he asked. A deep "All prepared" answered his
question.
"'Tis well. Now shall I register your vows before the unveiled Host
and upon the crucifix, that in the very presence of the Son of God ye
may swear to perform them unto the end. To thee, my son," continued
the Superior, addressing Catesby, "will I first administer the oath,
for 'twas thy hand which was foremost to lift itself in the holy
cause."
The man arose and knelt before the Jesuit. "Dost swear," said the
priest, holding a crucifix before the other's eyes, "that as thou dost
hope for salvation through the blood of Christ, so thou wilt yield thy
blood if need be in this holy work; setting aside all else until a
Catholic doth occupy the throne of England?"
"I swear it, father," answered Catesby, reverently pressing his lips
to the cross.
To every one of the eight did the Superior give the oath, and then
took the same himself.
"And now," said Garnet, when the men had once more resumed their
places, "do we proceed to administer to each the sacrament which alone
can fill your minds and bodies with sufficient strength to carry out
our holy purpose."
The priest arose and turned toward the altar, bowed, then slowly
ascended the steps. After unlocking the door of the tabernacle with a
golden key, he drew forth from the recess the Monstrance containing
the eucharist. Again he bowed, then elevated the Host, while the
stillness was only broken by the deep tone of the sacring-bell, the
men bending in adoration. Once more the priest made reverence; then
arising, took from out the Monstrance the pyx, and facing the group,
repeated the words: "Ecce Agnus Dei." All arose and knelt before him
on the steps, receiving from his hands the sacrament, and when they
had partaken, each silently returned to his place. A sense of the
solemnity of their undertaking, accentuated by the awfulness of the
act in which they were engaged, filled the men's hearts so that they
scarcely beheld the Jesuit ascend to the altar and replace the Host
within the tabernacle, or heard the benediction he pronounced....
Once more the men stood in the room they occupied previous to their
entrance into the chapel. All seemed loath to speak, being deeply
impressed by the ceremony in which they had taken part.
At last Fawkes made ready for departure, being desirous of reaching
London ere daybreak. As he approached the door of the room the
Superior arose and passed toward him. "Friend Guido," said Garnet, as
the other stood ready for the journey, "I will not see thee ere thou
and Sir Winter return from France. Let thy mind be at ease regarding
thy daughter, for in thy absence I will have her under my special
care. Hadst better mention to her that she will have a visitor?"
"I will be guided by thee in the matter, good father," returned
Fawkes; "but," he continued, in a husky tone, "guard her well, for she
is very dear to me."
"Have no fear," Garnet answered, kindly, laying a hand upon the
other's shoulder; "in that will I be as zealous as though she were a
daughter of mine own."