Chapter 19761332

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Chapter NumberVOL II XV THE JESUITS MOVE
Chapter TitleTHE JESUITS MOVE.
Chapter Urlhttp://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article19761332
Full Date1877-09-01
Page Number9
Corrections0
Word Count4472
IllustratedN
Last Corrected0000-00-00
Newspaper TitleThe Queenslander (Brisbane, Qld. : 1866 - 1939)
Trove TitleHer Majesty's Tower
article text

LITERATURE

Her Majesty's Tower.*

VOL. II.

CHAPTER XV.

THE JESUITS MOVE.

BY WILLIAM HEPWORTH DIXON.

THE time was now come for the Jesuits to move, so as to rouse their pupils without committing themselves too openly to the plot. Good news came in from Rome, to which

Persens had returned from Naples, at the call of a new Pope. Clement was dead : and Leo, his successor, was also dead. In thirty days, three Popes bid reigned in Rome ; the last of whom, Paul the Fifth, a man of chilled and fervent passions, gave his ear to the English Jesuits, as councillors who must understand then* country better than Italian cardinals and Spanish»monks. crime; but he listened with zeal to his state ments on English affairs ; and promised his wily visitor that he would think over his request for help in the task of converting sobls to God. Persons was about to send a priest to London, one Father Robarts, to stand by the side of Fawkes. It was of high importance that Robarta should go to England fresh from the Pontiffs presence, and with the Pontiff's blessing on his head. Persons obtained for him a special audience and benediction from Paul, Mid then despatched him to London, with orders to report himself to Garnet and Catesby, and to take up his poet where those councillors Bhould suggest. Good news came in from the Flemish camp, to which Stanley had returned, as Father Owen expected, in bitter mood. He was easily induced to join a plot in which he was to play the most brilliant part His comrades in London heard with delight that he was raising • brigade of Swiss, Walloons, and Irish, which he would lead in person across the Straits so soon as he received a summons from White Webbs. Coming back from Flanders, Fawkes took up b> abode in Vinegar House, to which Mrs. Percy was said to be coming from her country scat He paid thequarter's rent then due, and Mrs. Whynyard observed that his purse was full of gold. But he often went from home, and stayed away all night In fact, he kept his old lodging in Batcher-row, at widow Herbert's house, as a more convenient place of call for his friends than cither the tavern in Carter-lane or the house in Parliament-place. Mrs. Herbert hardly liked her lodger, whose coming and going she could not quite make out; but he paid his rent to the hour, and was much away from Butcher row—points in his favor in the landlady's eyes. Often he was at Moorcroft and White Webbs in secret' eonf crcncc with Catesby and Tom. His masters deemed it prudent for him to be rarely seen i& Parliament-place. Early in the year, Father Garnet, Father Old come, and the two ladies, left White Webbs for the midland shires, where the chief conspirators wm* gathering into knots and groups. " Mrs. Perkins' 1 left her servant James hi the house. They began their travels in the double character of laymen and of priests. On the road sad at inn-yards, Garnet was « Mr. Mese," Old* come was *'Mr. Perkins," while, in the houses el their penitents, they were known as Father Walley and Father Tesmond. The ladies had a similar choice of names. Ann was "Mrs. Parkins1' on the road, and Mrs. Vauzin thehouse ; Helen was "Mrs. Jennings" on the road, Mrs. Brooksby in the house Brooksby was some-, times with them, oftener he was far away. They seldom slept on the road, and never when it ©cold be helped, bat passed from one Catholic mansion to another, under secret arrangements,' which never failed. , , In June, they oame to White Webbs for a week, and left it for a second found of visits, on the dose of which they came home again for three or four days. • . • ... .. . The time was now come for everyone to assume his post The Fathers held » council, aad, when it broke, up, the Prefect aud his two most trusty brethren separated, never to meet aasin, Garnet was to go into the midland ?hires. Oldcorne, under his lay name of " Perkins," was to remain in London. Greenway wss to cross over to Flanders. By this arrange ment, each knot of the conspirators would have a. Jesuit in their midst The two ladies were to ride down with Garnet, so as to be at head-quarters ; but ere they rode away, " Mrs. Perkins" called her servant James, sad gave him charge of her house, with orders how to act The house was to be kept open and the stable ready to receive her friends. Some gentlemen would call, and beds must be kept for them. He must see to their comforts, and look well after their horses. Then the company rode •way for the last time ; going straight to Goat hunt, Digby's seat in Bucks, where they found the knight and hfai lady, Father Fisher their confessor, Ambrose Rokewood and his wife, with a company of some thirty squires and dames. The Prefect had arranged a picturesque and striking scene, as prelude to the tragedy in Par liament-place ; a pilgrimage to some holy well, in which the men and women could equally have their part He chose St. Winifred's Well, in Flintshire, as the term of their journey; and after a mass of special meaning had been said at Goathurst, the whole company mounted and rode away, with Father Garnet and Father Fisher in their midst The first resting-place of the cavalcade was Norbrook, where Grant re ceived them, and Garnet said mass ; the second, Huddington, where Winter received them, and Garnet again said mass. From Huddington they rode to Holt, where the ladies left their horses, and putting off shoes and socks, walked bare footed to the Well A special mass was said once more ; after which the party spent a night in the open air, with the Flintshire saint When daylight came, the penitents walked back to Holt) put on their shoes and socks, and returned *Th« rigat of rwpahliihing "Her Majesty's T«ww" has bsta porshawd by tiwffoptMqn <X Tht Qm*mtim4tr,

ihe way they had corns, throngh Huddington and Norbrook, to Digby's house, where, the company dispersed to* their several homes'; all the guests going away except Garnet, Mrs. Brooksby, and Ann Vaux. Lapworth, Catesby'B house, near Warwick, was the natural centre of the plot; but Lapworth was too small a place ; and ou the advice of Catesby, Sir Evsrard Digby moved to Coughton, Thomas Throckmorton'a Beat, near Alcaster, v central Btation, and convenient.house. Rokewood, also, on the same suggestion, hired Clopton, near Stratford-on-Avon, from liord Carew. Jack Wright was at Lapworth; Thomas Morgan, the assassin, was at Norbrook with a female com panion. Stephen Littleton was at Hagley, wait ing for his summons to mount and march. When all was ready for the blow in London, Father Garnet and the two ladieß rode over from Goathurst to Coughton, where the Prefect lodged in the midst of his unruly scholars until he heard from D^gby that the plot bad failed- . Chapstb XVI. in lohdpn; Ih spite of hi* haughty bearing, Catesby was much perplexed in mind. He feared that his cousin Frank was false, that his enterprise would fail, that his neck was forfeit to the law. The last ten days of his. London life were spent, with intervals, at the lonely house in Enfield Chase. . . ' Coming up from the shires, in company with Guy Fawkes, he stopped on Friday, October 26, at White Webbs, to which house he called Tom Winter from Montagu Close. Reports had reached him that Prince Henry would not attend his father in the House of Lords; in which case all their pains in seising the Princess Elisabeth at Combe Abbey, and the Duke of York in Whitehall Palace, would be thrown away. The father killed, bis son would be king. Could Winter say whether these reports were true t Yes, Winter had heard this news. "Then we must have our horses beyond the water," cried his chief; "and a company to surprise the Prince, and leave the Duke alone." They sent word to Percy, then in the north, to ride up to London with his utmost speed. What lay with Catesby had been done. The mine was laid; the torch was ready; and the man was sure. A boat was lying near the Queen's Bridge, by which it was hoped that Fawkes could push into the stream, so as to avoid the shook and ruin of the mine. Lower down the river lay a vessel, ready tp set sail, by, which he could escape to a foreign port, with news of the King's death, and a message for Stanley to cross, with his Swiss and'lrish com panies, into the Thames.. Parliament was to meet on Tuesday, November 5; • daj, as Catesby thought to be ever glorious to the calendar of his. church. Excepting Percy, the'chiefs'weip now ht London, waiting f&r that Tuesday to arrive. Father Robarts had been stationed >in Vinegar House,, under the care of Mrs. Qibbins,; (Jatesby was at White Webbs, Fawkes returned to Butcher-row for two or three nights.' Tom Winter was in Mbnkgn Close: JfokTwright was at the Horse Ferry, Lambeth. Cousin Frank was in ClerkenwMJ. Rokewpod, Kay, aad Kit Wright were lodging at St. Giles' Fields, in the i house of Mrs. More. When Percy came to town, he was to stsjf withhis friends, Rbke woodand Kay, in their lodging* at Mrs! More*. Fawkes, who was now become the nearest of Cajtesby's comrades, spent most of bis time secreted at Enfield Chase. All things were prepared ; and all things down to the inscriptions oh their swords, in what the conspirators conceived to be a : religious spirit. Rokewood had employed a cutler name*} Cradook to make three sword hilts, on each of, which he' was to engrave the Passion of Christ These swords were for him self, Kit Wright, and Kay. Their chief, though he ordered no suoh hilt for himself, was so much interested in the work that he called vert often at Cradock'a shop to see what progress he had made. . ?? ! A fancy sword was not the thing of which Catesby stood in most pressing need. He wanted money, and he wanted men. The absence of Prince Henry crossed his plans; and the means of seizing that prince at the moment of explosion were now beyond their reach. His scheme was falling into chaos. Cousin Frank, too, was sus pected by him more and more. Frank had not yet supplied the whole of his two thousand pounds, and his general conduct had been so strange of late that Catesby, though he loved him dearly, had more than once thought of soothing his jealous rage by plunging the dagger into his heart In truth, the Frank Tresham, who had played with him as a boy, and who had sworn the oath to keep his secret, was not the Mr. Tresham with whom he had now to deaL A serious change had come. His sworn companion was not the rich Northampton squire, for his father, Sir Thomas, had been then alive; but while the penitents were walking bare-legged to St Winifred's Well, Sir Thomas had passed away, and Frank had been left the master of Rushton Hall, with one of the best estates in the midland shires. Then only he saw the error of his way, for what he had done in taking the oath of secresy put this large estate in peril, and Mr. Tresham was suspected by his desperate kinsman of a design to undo what Cousin Frank had done. This task of undoing what he had done was not easy for Mr. Tresham; since the payments which he had made under his first rash promise had put him equally into Catesby'B power and into Cecil's power. As a conspirator—guilty of compassing the King's death —his life and fortune were at stake, and one word from his disdainful cousin would send him, a rained traitor, to the Tower. How far Cecil and Northampton were acquainted with the plot he shrewdly guessed ; for any man who watched the Secretary's action, with the clue in his hand, could hardly help seeing that the Government knew as much as they cared to learn. A man must have been ignorant of Cecil and Northampton in no common measure who could have dreamed that a secret which was known to a hundred persons in Douai, Madrid, and Rome —that a design which had been nursed at White Webbs and carried out in Parliament-place— could have escaped the greatest masters of i intrigue alive. Many of the court papers have been bvnrk, yet tsNugh remains to show that

the Council were informed of the plot in almost every stage. Tillotaon bad told them of the design to out off the King and his progeny. Southwick, one of their priestly spies in France, had sent them news of everything done by the Jeatrite, and the name of every Jesuit who crossed the sea into Kent Wilson wrote to them from Valladolid, that the Jesuits were to try once more what they had tried in the Queen's time, and that the King and Prince were to be killed. The matter was so far known as to be made a subject of negotiation with the Papal Nuncio in Paris, who proposed to guarantee the King's personal safety on con dhion of his suspending the penal laws and granting freedom of the mass. A sorcerer named Wright, a spy named Williams, an informer named Coe, Bent warnings to Cecil, whose agents were in Enfield Chase, in Warwick, in Stratford, in Dunchuroh,—following the Jesuits from mass to funeral, from pilgrimage to hunt counting their numbers, marking their prose lytes—mapping out their haunts. It was no part of Cecil's policy to step in one hour before the dramatic time. He knew the value of a plot too well to sacrifice the ohances which Garnet and Catetby were throwing into his path. A sudden surprise, a chase of male factors, an arrest of Catholic peers, with a state trial, and an execution of Jesuits, would make his peace with a patriotio House of Commons, an<| secure to him the,confidence and gratitude of James. The King was vain enough to think that he was personally a favorite of Heaven, and he wished the world to see that he was really protected from above. He wanted a day to be set apart in the calendar to his glory; and he had tried to get his Council to adopt the fifth of August, the date of the Oowrie Plot, as his sacred day. The thing could not be done ; for the Council knew that the King's escape from Ruthven had produced only a slight—and not in any sense a dramatic—shock of the public mind. The Scots themselves made a comedy of the the day in Perth; and even those among ' his courtiers who thought, he had been in danger, smiled at the affair as a personal feud, in a pro vincial town. But a conspiracy in London, managed by the Jesuits, and threatening a hundred lives, would serve his- weakness well, if it could be only watched and turned so as to keep the actual peril far from his throat and crown. If all went well, the King might write his name in the calendar on a day to be called hSsbwn. Bat Cecil and Northampton had other pur poses in view. . They h*d to epnvinoe the Duke da Lerma that they and their party in the Council were the only agents at the English court whom it would be worth Ms while to employ in carrying' oat the policy'of Spain: Philip, a fanatic in. creed, was still Inclined to tru*4 the. Jesuita; and it was necessary, that these Jesuits should be swept away. , : Measures of precaution' had been 'taken ; long ago, and nothing less than the blindnwg which 'affliots all criminals cqold. have hidden from Gatesby and Percy the movements made, to. defeat their game. During the summer- and autamn months sharp eyerwonld have noticed ah unusual stir among the train-bands. The muster* had been called, the companies strengthened, and the arms inspected, in every shire. The Lord Lieutenants of counties had been asked to«ee after this great work ra person ; while in the ahirwe which had no such officers, the most able member of the Privy Council had been charged with the task. If Spinola had been menacing Kent, the preparations could hardly have been > more complete. Much and wise attention had been given to the bands in Warwickshire; Lord Compton, the King's lieutenant, receiving sharp commands from Whitehall to hold reviews of men and arms, and to see for himself that both were in readiness to take the field. Edmund Nicholson, the famous armourer, was sent from London with a supply of guns and pikes lor these Warwickshire bands, some of whom were then being drilled in the fields near Norbrook, Father Southwick was sent for out of France, to help in bunting down the Jesuits; and Cecil, remembering the Essex rising and the black* ! friats play, shut up the theatres and confined 1 the comedians to their homes. On the very day of Catesby's arrival at White Webbs, Father Southwick was in consultation with Cecil's secretory, Levinus Munck. The incidents through which the plot was brought to light, bear traces throughout of Cecil's art On Saturday afternoon, October 26th, Mont eagle, who lived in Montagu Close, near the Globe Theatre, sent a messenger to his place in Hoxton (probably Brooke Houbo), with orders to prepare his sapper, as he meant to come out with a friend that night The friend who rode out with him to Hoxton was Thomas Ward, a gentleman of his household, who was also a friend of Winter, and an unsworn member of the plot As the peer and his man were sitting down to sop, a page came into the room with a letter in his hand, which had been given to him, he said, by a strange man in the lane, who bade him give it to his lord and to no one else. Mont eagle broke the seal, and tossed the paper to Ward, who read it out aloud. The words were vague enough, but they warned Monteagle, as he ten dered his life, to go into the country instead of going to the Parliament house, as God and man had concurred to punish the wickedness of the times by a "terrible blow." Pages, servants, all his household, heard these menacing words, which Monteagle's conduct made more menacing stilL He rose from table, called for his horse, and rode away to town. About ten o'clock that Saturday night, he dashed into Whitehall Yard, and ran up stairs into Cecil's private room, where he found a curious group for him to meet by chance on such a night; four Catholic Earls, whom James had now taken into his Council; Nottingham, Northampton, Suffolk, and Worcester; all of whom had come into Cecil's room to sup. Ten o'clock suppers were rather late ; but the five lords were in no hurry; and the letter which had been left at Monteagle's door in Hoxton, by the unknown man, was read aloud to them ere they sat down to eat At table they agreed to keep their secret; as the King, who was hunting deer at Royston, was daily expected back in town. On Sunday morning, the game was wholly in CedTe hands, bat the player was too crafty to •how his cards. On* of CaUsby's omsi was

ithatCedl was a fool; aadCeefl, taking care that his victims should not be alarmed one hour too soon, so veiled his action that Cateßby could neither carry out his plan nor save himself by flight. Levinus Munok, his private secretary, sent for Father Southwiok, who was to take horse and ride down into the country, where he was to say little and to see much; running the Jesuit agents to their holes, and marking the cover, so that Munck could issue the warrants and throw them into gaol, whenever his master pleased. Northampton sent for Sir Thomas Knyvet, a connexion of Lady Suffolk, and a man whom he could trust. Knyvet, Warder of th Mint, and a Justice of the Feaoe for Westmin ster, was to prepare for a sudden and secret service to the Crown, for which in time he might except to receive a great reward. He was to make a search and seizure for the King, which could be more conveniently mad* by a Justice of.the Peace than by a Captain of the Guard.,,... Monteagle, having interests in the plot beyond those of Cecil, to whom it was a .work of political art and not a personal peril, was of all things anxious that Catesby should escape unhurt. But he could not act in person. Though bis peace was made with Cecil, it would never do for him to be known as giving a conspirator the advice and the means to fly. He spoke to Ward, of whom he had a great eonoeit; and on Sunday night, as Winter lay in bed, Ward went to bis bedside and told him all; describing the letter left in the Hoxton lane, the public reading in the hall, the ride to London, the interview of Montoagle with the five lords ; and urging him, as he loved Catesby, to ride over in the morning to White Webbs, and foroe him to tale the boat for France. At dawn on Monday, Winter left Montagu Close in search of Father Oldoorne and Jack Wright; and when he found them in their lodgings, they rode together to White Webbs with their doleful news. Catesby reeled beneath the blow, but his spirits soon leapt proudly up. Tom begged him to save himself since he could no longer hope to serve his God. But Cateeby would not hear of flight He could not think their secret was betrayed. A fancy seised him that the news sent down by Ward waa all .a trick, devised by his cousin Frank to drive him oft He would look farther into things *h»n Tom saw need. The mm* should be examined; for if, Cecil had received tuoh a letter font Monteagle, his very first care must have been to inspect the vault Fawkes should go up to ', town and sea Winter urged the peril, to whish Catesby answered that the vault was Fawkes' post, and that they need not tell him whyb* was seat in. Tuesday was spent in tfaesadebates^ during which the servant James was told to toek after their geldings, and bay what was wasted in Bnfield town: anything to keep him frosft ; the house. • . . ?.-,, ,^ ; On Wednesday morning Fawkes rode up to town, and opening, the door into the vaults* ( found everything as he had Left H, down to th* private mark whioh he had placed to show whether anyone had passed the door. That night he rode back to Enfiald Chase, where the conspirators received his tidings with gladsome, hearta. On Thursday, Winter rode into town in< search of Tresham, and finding him in Clerken.-.. well, proposed in Catesby's name that they should, meet next day in Barnet to oonf er upon , their course. Catesby, who knew, his oousift, capable of. trick, could not believe him oapahls' of treachery; but he had so far steeled his heart •gainst him* that if they found him false, he told Tom Whiter they must stab him on the spot ; ' [to as covrnßTßC] ? . . .

Om of the iait links which connected the present generation of Englishmen with Lord (Palmenton has jack piped away'ih the perse* of hie chaplain, Rev. Thomas J. Theobald, Rector of Nunnery, Somersetshire, lord Palmenton's idea of a domestic chaplain was a <mao who oould carve, play a rubber" at|.,w,hli»V. preaoh a plain sermon, and tell a< good story-** . and the late Mr. Theobald was a man after hfr ' own heart ' ' ' ;'; Thb Mooh ? Dkij> Woun,-—Among. the M illusions swept away by modem science was the , plees*n.t fancy that the moon was a habitable globe like the earth, its surface diversified with seas, lakes, continents, and islands, and varied forms of vegetation. Theologians and savant gravely diseusaed the probabilities of its being" inhabited by a race of sentient beings, with forms and faculties like our own, and even pro pounded schemes for opening communication with them, in case they existed. One of these was to construct on the broad highlands of Asia a series of geometrical figures on a scale so . gigantio as to be visible from our planetary neighbor, on the supposition that the moon people would reoogniae the object, and im T mediately construe* similar figures in reply.' Extravagant and absurd as it may. appear, the t discussion was kept up at intervals, until it', was discovered that if there where people in the moon they mutt be able to live without breath- ' ing, or eating, or drinking, Then it ceased. There can be no life without air. Beautiful to the eye of a distant observer, the moon is a, sepulchural orb—a world of death and silence.' No vegetation clothes its vast plains of stoney desolation, traversed by monstrous crevices, broken by enormous peaks that rise like gigantio tombstones into space ; no lovely forms of cloud float in the blackness of ita sky. The daytime is only night lighted by a rayless sun. There is no rosy dawn in the morning, no twilight in the evening. The nights are pitchdark. In the day* time the aolar beams are lost against the jagged ridges, the sharp points of the rocks, of the steep sides of profound abysses; and the eye sees only grotesque shapes relieved against fantastic shadows black as ink, with none of that pleasant gradation and diffusion of light, none of the subtle blending of light and shadow, which makes the charm of a terrestiial land scape. There is no color, nothing but dead white and black. The rocks reflect passively the light of the sun ; the craters and abysses remain wrapped in shade; fantastic peaks rise like phantoms in their glacial cemetery ; the stars appear like spots in the blackness! °* apace. The moon is a dead world ; she has no atmo sphere.— LidUt Journal