The Life Of A Conspirator Part 9

I am not denying that Catesby fancied he was doing right; but whether that fancy was arrived at by right means or wrong is another question.

He seems to have argued to himself that Pope, Priests, and Jesuits were not equal to the occasion; that there were times, of which his own was one, at which papal, spiritual, and even biblical teaching must for the moment be set on one side whilst the secular arm struck a violent blow for the relief of G.o.d's suffering people; that, _ante factum_, the ecclesiastical powers could not consent to such a measure, but that, _post factum_, they would not only tolerate it, but approve of and rejoice at it. It came, therefore, to this, that on a most important point of morals--faith and morals, be it remembered, are the two chief provinces over which the Catholic Church claims power--a private individual, and not the Church, was to decide what was best; in short, Catesby was to protest against the teaching of the Church. Luther protested in matters of faith; Catesby protested in matters of morals.

Both men seem to have believed that the time would come when the Church would see that what they did was for its welfare.

It has been said that in Father Garnet we have one of the most remarkable instances in history of the secresy of the confessional. On this point I venture no opinion; but I am bold enough to say that in Robert Catesby we have one of the most remarkable instances in history of the abuse of the confessional. Perhaps no man ever did more to foster that superst.i.tious horror of "auricular confession" which has so long prevailed, and still prevails in this country.

In pa.s.sing, I may meet a possible inquiry as to how it came about that so much should be known concerning what Catesby had told Greenway in confession, and what Greenway had told Garnet under the same sacred seal. The explanation is simple. Catesby had not only given Father Greenway permission to inform Father Garnet of the plot, under seal of confession, but had[185] "arranged that neither should be bound by that seal when lawfully examined by their superiors." Another question naturally presents itself, much more connected with the man whose life I am writing, which I confess I do not find it so easy to answer. It is the following:--When Father Garnet noticed the sudden and suspicious confidences which had arisen between Catesby and Sir Everard Digby,[186]

after their ride from Harrowden to Gothurst, did he, though tongue-tied as to what he knew of Catesby's designs under seal of confession, know enough _out_ of the confessional to warn Sir Everard against consenting to, or joining in, any illicit schemes which Catesby might propose to him and had he an extra-confessional _causa loquendi_?

[185] _Father Garnet and the G. P._, Pollen, p. 11.

[186] _Ib._, pp. 21, 22.

Let us suppose that he asked himself this question. Even if he answered it in the affirmative, he might have refrained from acting, through fear that, in his vehemence in warning Sir Everard, there might be a danger of his breaking the seal of the confessional; or that in vaguely putting Sir Everard on his guard, he might raise the suspicion that knowledge obtained in the confessional was the occasion, or the impelling cause of that warning. Or he might reflect that, if cross-questioned by Sir Everard, it would be difficult to remember, at a moment's notice, exactly how much of his knowledge of Catesby's schemes was sealed by confession, and how much unsealed.

Yet when he looked at his young host, and at his charming and excellent wife, still a mere girl, but with two little children beside her, in their beautiful and happy home, the model of what a Christian home ought to be, and a centre of Catholic society; and when he considered that hitherto Sir Everard Digby had been as upright in character as in stature, and as distinguished in virtue as in appearance, might he not have told himself that any effort was worth making to try to save him from a terrible crime and its terrible consequences?

He was the only man who could do so! He alone had "a general knowledge of Mr Catesby's intention,"[187] untrammelled by the secresy of either oath or confessional, and he[188] "noticed the new intimacy that had sprung up between Catesby and Digby," and surmised truly enough that Digby had been "drawn in." Yet it is evident from Sir Everard's letters from the Tower, that Father Garnet never lifted a finger nor uttered a word to hinder his host from joining, or proceeding in, the conspiracy which was to work his ruin. This is the more remarkable because Father Garnet might have been expected not only to wish to save Sir Everard from the guilt and the dangers of the Plot, but also to prevent a conspiracy which he so much dreaded from being strengthened by the support of a man of considerable wealth. The most probable origin of his inaction in this matter was the same weakness of character which had exhibited itself in his speech to Sir Everard about the Pope and the "stirrs," and in his failure to reveal his "general knowledge, had of Mr Catesby out of confession," whereby he said he offended G.o.d and the King. His silence and inaction were certainly not owing to any temporary revival of confidence in his mind. On the contrary, he wrote:--[189] "I remained in the greatest perplexity that ever I was in my life, and could not sleep a' nights." He added, "I did offer up all my devotions and ma.s.ses that G.o.d of his mercy and infinite Providence would dispose of all for the best, and find means which were pleasing unto Him, to prevent so great a mischief" [as the Gunpowder Plot]. "I knew that this would be infinitely displeasing to my Superiors in Rome, in so much as at my second conference with Mr Greenway, I said, 'Good Lord, if this matter go forward, the Pope will send me to the galleys, for he will a.s.suredly think I was privy to it.'"

[187] His own admission. S.P. Dom. James I., Vol. xx. n. 12.

[188] Father Garnet and the G. P., Pollen, pp. 22, 23.

[189] _Ib._, 23.

Far be it from me to presume to judge Father Garnet harshly; his opportunities may have been much less, his difficulties may have been much greater, than the evidence before us would seem to show; but, as a biographer of Sir Everard Digby, I feel bound to express my regret that it should appear as if Father Garnet might have saved him from the terrible troubles that followed and failed to do so.

I began this chapter with a reference to those who plead extenuating circ.u.mstances for Catesby. Let me end it by referring to somewhat similar-minded critics, who, while they condemn the Gunpowder Plot as a most dastardly outrage, regard it as the hot-blooded attempt of a small party of Catholics driven to desperation by their sufferings. Of the sufferings of the English Catholics there can be no sort of doubt or question; and none the less certain is it that, as a body, they bore them with patience and without any attempt at rebellion. Was, then, the small party of Catholics that conspired in the Gunpowder Plot composed of men so exceptionally exposed to sufferings for their faith as to be, more than any of their fellow-sufferers, "driven to desperation"? It is well worth while to inquire. We will consult a Catholic contemporary, most unlikely to represent their lot as too easy, namely, the oft-quoted Father Gerard.[190]

[190] _Narrative of the Gunpowder Plot._

Let us begin with Catesby, the originator and leader of the enterprise.

The losses of his father on account of his religion do not concern the objects of the plot, as they were incurred long before and during a different reign. Catesby himself had certainly lost money, and a great deal of money; but how?[191] "He spent much above his rate [income], and so wasted also good part of his living." He was guilty of "excess of play and apparel." He also had to pay "3000 before he got out" of prison, where he had been put for joining in the ill-fated rising of Ess.e.x. Even after all these losses, he was able to live among men of wealth, if not in his own country-house at Lapworth, in Warwickshire.

[191] _Narrative of the Gunpowder Plot_, p. 55.

Ambrose Rokeby was[192] "a gentleman of good worth in the county of Suffolk, and of a very ancient family, and himself the heir of the eldest house." At the time of the plot he had a great many horses, and was evidently a rich man. John Grant was[193] "a man of sufficient estate." Francis Tresham was[194] "a gentleman of Northamptonshire of great estate, esteemed then worth 3000 a year," a sum, of course, equivalent to a very large income in these days. Robert Winter was[195]

"a gentleman of good estate in Worcestershire." Thomas Percy,[196]

although not a rich landowner, held the lucrative post of agent and administrator to his cousin, the Earl of Northumberland. The "means were not great" of Robert Keyes, John and Christopher Wright, and Thomas Winter; but most of them seem to have been able to live in good society, and their want of money was for the most part owing to their being younger sons, being "very wild,"[197] or living "in good sort and of the best,"[198] when their circ.u.mstances did not justify their doing so. As for Sir Everard Digby, it is scarcely necessary to repeat that he had been a rich man to begin with, and had increased his wealth by marrying an heiress. These, then, are the men who, we are told, were driven to desperation by their sufferings, and conspired together to commit a most horrible and murderous crime, while thousands of Catholics who were literally ruined, by fines for their religion which they were unable to pay, bore their troubles in silence, and with Christian fort.i.tude and resignation.

[192] _Ib._, p. 85.

[193] _Ib._, p. 86.

[194] _Ib._, p. 90.

[195] _Ib._, p. 58.

[196] _Ib._, p. 57.

[197] _Narrative of the Gunpowder Plot_, p. 59.

[198] _Ib._, p. 58.

In connection with this matter, there is one more point to be considered. The sudden and unpremeditated a.s.sault of a man in despair is sometimes to be excused, and often to be regarded with comparative lenience. What looks like murder at first sight, at second may prove to be only man-slaughter, under such circ.u.mstances. Does any such excuse exist for the Gunpowder Plot? Was it a violent attempt made on the spur of the moment, or was it the result of lengthy, deliberate, and anxious forethought? Was it the work of an hour, a day, a week, or even a month.

On the contrary, so far as can be ascertained, at least a year and a quarter, and more probably a year and a half, of careful scheming and calculation were devoted to it.[199]

[199] See Jardine's _G. P._, p. 27; also _Father Garnet and the G.

P._, p. 4.

It has been said, in excuse for the conspirators, that there are reasons for suspecting the idea of the Gunpowder Plot to have been conceived in the first instance by Cecil, who had it suggested to Catesby, through a third person--possibly Mounteagle--with the deliberate intention of bringing discredit upon the English Catholics, and thereby giving cause for the enactment of severer measures for their repression. This may remind some of my readers that, at the height of the agrarian crime in Ireland, during the last quarter of the nineteenth century, many good Irish Catholics were persuaded, or persuaded themselves, that the outrages were invented, instigated, and encouraged, if not actually perpetrated, at the suggestion of the authorities at Dublin Castle, in order to throw discredit upon "the poor, oppressed Irish peasantry," and to give an excuse for "persecuting" them with renewed vigour.

As to the question whether Cecil originated the Gunpowder Plot as a bait with which to entrap Catholic priests, Jesuits, and laymen, if there be any grounds for it, it certainly has great historic interests; but whether Cecil, or the Devil, or both, put the idea into the heads of the conspirators, little, if at all, affects their guilt.

CHAPTER IX.

Towards the end of the last chapter, I showed that the conspirators were for the most part in fairly comfortable circ.u.mstances, and that some of them were rich. It was not necessary to my purpose to enter into details concerning Guy Fawkes, who was an adventurer and a mere tool, or concerning Thomas Bates, who was Catesby's servant. Nor did I mention the Littletons--one a wealthy man, and the other a younger son, and a cousin of the former; for, although they joined in the rising after the discovery of the plot, and suffered death for it, they do not appear to have been among the sworn conspirators beforehand. But, before dismissing the subject of the riches or poverty of the plotters, I have something more to say.

Sir Everard Digby was chiefly enlisted by Catesby on account of his wealth. He promised to contribute 1500 towards the scheme, and to furnish, in addition, as much armour and as many arms, men, and horses as he might be able. Another large landowner was enlisted even later than Sir Everard, and for the same purpose. This was Catesby's cousin, Francis Tresham, of Rushton, in Northamptonshire. He, like Catesby and Percy, had been implicated in the rebellion of the Earl of Ess.e.x, so a plot was no novelty to him, and he consented to help the new one with money to the extent of 2000. Funds, again, were to be found in another quarter.[200] "Mr Percy himself promised all he could get out of the Earl of Northumberland's rents,"--in other language, he promised to embezzle, and apparently with the pious Catesby's full consent, every penny he was able of his master's money--"which was about 4000." Here, therefore, we have a fund of 7500, to say nothing of what Catesby and the other conspirators may have spent in the early stages of the plot.

[200] Thomas Winter's Confession. S.P., Gunpowder Plot Book, n. 114.

In the reign of James I., a sovereign sterling was worth very much more than it is at present; some people say ten times as much;[201] so if they are right, the Gunpowder Plot Fund amounted to 75,000 of our money.

[201] See Dr Jessop, in _One Generation of a Norfolk House_, p. 285.

What became of it? All the work done was voluntary and unpaid. The hiring of the cellar under the houses of Parliament could not have been a very heavy outlay; very many hundreds of pounds cannot have been spent in gunpowder; and if a good deal may have been invested in horses, that would only exhaust a comparatively small portion of so large a fund.

Most likely the conspirators defrayed their own personal expenses while working for the plot, and even if they charged them to the fund, the men were so few in numbers that they cannot have amounted to much. Can it be that some immense bribe was given, or promised, to Guy Fawkes for the excessively dangerous part which he was to play in the drama? This is far from unlikely!

The fugitives, after the discovery of the plot, carried a good deal of cash with them as they rode about, trying to raise an insurrection. Sir Everard Digby alone took[202] "above 1000 in ready coin" with him.

According to the authority quoted, this would be the equivalent of 10,000 nowadays, a large amount to carry about the country. Yet, as will be seen when the proper time comes, he apparently made no use of it. The financial aspects of the Gunpowder Plot are as curious as they are incomprehensible.

[202] _Narrative of the G. P._, Gerard, p. 92.

After giving his solemn promise not to divulge the conspiracy, Sir Everard evidently could say nothing about it to Lady Digby. It must have been a terrible trial to have the burden of that awful secret, with all its dangers to himself and those dear to him, on his mind when he looked upon his innocent, holy, and loving young wife, with her little boy, Kenelm, now two years old, toddling after her, and her baby, which had been born early in that year, in her arms, as she walked about the long, low rooms and corridors of Gothurst, or wandered about its sloping gardens and along the banks of the River Ouse. While the worst fear in her mind as she did so would be a visit from pursuivants, her husband knew of far more terrible dangers by which their hitherto happy home was threatened.

Already he was beginning to take precautions against possible failure and its fearful consequences. Of course, at Gothurst, as at every other house frequented by priests, there was a "priests' hole"; but Sir Everard now ordered preparations for concealment to be made upon a much more elaborate scale. It is nearly certain that the most celebrated of all artificers in priests' hiding-places was staying at Gothurst just at this very time. His real name was Nicholas Owen, but he usually went by the name of "Little John." He was a Jesuit lay-brother, and he usually accompanied Father Garnet in his travels. It is recorded that he went to Gothurst with Father Garnet on his way to Holywell, and it may be a.s.sumed that he was with him when he returned. Nothing, therefore, would be simpler or easier for Sir Everard than, on the plea of a desire to increase his precautions for priests in case of a raid from pursuivants, to ask Little John to superintend the making of intricate places of concealment which should serve as refuges for himself and his fellow-conspirators in case of discovery, failure, or pursuit.

He could not have found a better workman for this purpose. Father Gerard writes of him:--[203]"He it was that made our hiding-places; in fact he made the one to which I owed my safety." As he probably made the very curious hiding-places in Sir Everard Digby's house, I may claim to say something about him. Brother Foley calls him[204] "that useful, cunning joiner of those times," who "died a martyr for the faith, suspended from a Topcliff rack in the Tower of London, where he was divers times hung up for several hours together, to compel him to betray the hiding-places he had made, up and down the land; but not a word could they force from his sealed and faithful lips." "The authorities, shocked at their own cruelty, gave out that he destroyed himself."[205] A Protestant writer accordingly calls him[206] "that Owen who ript out his own bowells in the Tower." Father Gerard denies this story at great length,[207]

stating that the poor man suffered from hernia, and that although "the civil law doth forbid to torture any man that is broken," the executioners "girded" the afflicted part "with a plate of iron to keep in" the portion which threatened to protrude, but that "the extremity of pain (which is most in that kind of torment), about the breast" and the seat of the hernia, "did force out" the interior, "and so the iron did serve but to cut and wound his body, which, perhaps, did afterwards put them in mind to give out that he had ripped his" part in question, "with a knife. Which, besides all the former reasons, is in itself improbable, if not impossible. For first, in that case, knives are not allowed but only in the time of meat, whilst one stands by, and those such as are broad at the point, and will only cut towards the midst."

[203] _Life of Father J. Gerard_, p. lvii.

[204] _Records, S. J._ Series I., p. 297.

[205] _Ib._, p. 675, footnote.