Having held out with a staunchness which did indeed recall the legendary determination of Scaevola, Guido cracked. He began to talk, probably late on 7 November, and continued on the 8th and 9th.
There was only one problem with all this. As the historian Tacitus had wisely observed fifteen hundred years before Guido was taken to that dark, underground chamber in the Tower, torture tended to bring about false witness.*16 In order to alleviate his sufferings, the tormented man was more likely to give the Council the details it wanted to hear, rather than a strictly truthful account of what had taken place.
On 6 November, with Guido still holding out, Catesby and his confederates in the midlands must be judged to have had at least a chance of escape, although they would no doubt have left a wake of destruction behind them when the innocent – wives, families and uninvolved recusants – were picked up to pay for the crimes of the guilty. In any case it was not an option that Catesby considered. The mad scramble for further arms, further horses and further adherents continued, but it continued without success.
The raid on Warwick Castle did secure some horses, but it also provoked the second public proclamation by the government, which was issued the next day. This named as wanted men, in addition to Percy: Catesby, Rookwood, Thomas Wintour, the two Wrights, John Grant (misnamed Edward Grant) and Robert Ashfield, servant to Catesby (probably a mistake for Bates). Rather touchingly under the circumstances, Robert Wintour had denounced the raid on Warwick because it would make ‘a great uproar’ in the county. Rookwood was against it for quite a different reason and skirted the town: with his magnificent equestrian cortège, he had no need of further horses.17
After a visit to Norbrook to pick up the stored arms, the conspirators headed in the direction of Huddington. At this point Catesby ordered Thomas Bates to make a detour and break the news to Father Garnet and his fellow priests at Coughton Court. In his letter to Garnet, Catesby once again showed that blind faith in the rightness of what he was doing – and had done – which was singularly out of touch with the reality of the recusant position. Catesby, together with Digby, asked Father Garnet to excuse their rashness, but then proceeded to solicit Garnet’s assistance to raise a party in Wales where, far from the centre of government, Catholic support was believed to be vigorous. Garnet was appalled. With the arrival of Father Tesimond, Bates overheard the despairing words: ‘we are all utterly undone’.18
The priests understood quite well what was going to happen, and so did poor Mary Digby. When Father Garnet tried to comfort her she burst out weeping, as well she might, with her glorious young husband a traitor and, almost worse, her two little boys as traitor’s sons. Garnet’s reply to Catesby and Digby begged them to desist from their ‘wicked actions’ and listen to the preachings of the Pope.19
Eliza Vaux, at Harrowden with Father Gerard and two other priests, Father Singleton and Father Strange, had got wind of the catastrophe the night before. It was brought to her by her young cousin (and tenant) Henry Huddlestone, who had had that ominous encounter with Catesby and others on the road as they fled. At the time it was thought safer to pretend she had heard it via the servants’ network, from one of Sir Griffin Markham’s men to one of hers. Eliza was still intent on the marriage of her son Edward to Lord Suffolk’s daughter. She had been about to send him up to London to further the protracted negotiations when she heard that there were some ‘gar-boils’ (disturbances) in the capital and held him back.20 With a sinking heart, Eliza realised that there was now little point in a Catholic Romeo trying to further his suit with Lord Suffolk’s Juliet.
A more immediate problem was the plight of the priests. Harrowden, like any known recusant centre, might expect to be searched imminently. There was also the general Harrowden concern for Father Garnet, at Coughton. So Father Singleton and Father Strange, accompanied by Henry Huddlestone (who left his pregnant wife behind at Harrowden), set out on the morning of 7 November. On reaching Warwick, however, they found it heavily patrolled following the raid of the night before. Attempting to make a circuit, they were stopped and arrested at Kenilworth by Sir Richard Verney.
Since Sir Richard was uncle to Eliza’s new son-in-law, Sir George Symeon, Eliza was full of hope that she could get the prisoners released. But the situation was too serious for cosy family connections to operate – and recusant connections could in any case be an embarrassment. Furthermore Eliza, in sending desperate messages to Sir Richard, naively issued full physical descriptions of her friends – since she had no idea under what aliases they were being held (while fervently denying that any of them could possibly be priests).21 Coolly, Verney passed all this on to Salisbury. Huddlestone and Father Strange were taken to the Tower, and Father Singleton to Bridewell prison. Meanwhile the household at Harrowden – including Father Gerard – awaited the inevitable arrival of the poursuivants. At least Father Garnet managed to vanish from the authorities’ sight for the next few weeks into the thin recusant air. Anne Vaux was able to join him, posing as his sister Mrs Perkins.22 The Superior of the Jesuits was safe – or so it seemed at the time.
The leading conspirators – those who were left – and their diminishing band of helpers continued on their route to Huddington, where, according to Gertrude Wintour’s subsequent testimony, they arrived at about two o’clock in the afternoon on 6 November.* Here they were joined by Tom Wintour. Even among the Wintours’ closest relations and neighbours, there was no sympathy for the cause, only horror at the past and fear for the future. Thomas Habington of Hindlip, who had his wife Mary and their new-born son William to protect as well as priests, refused to have anything to do with the fugitives, and forbade his household to show any sympathy. Father Edward Oldcorne, among those he was sheltering, was equally horrified. Only Father Tesimond, the lively ‘cholerick’ Yorkshireman, seems to have had some concern for his friends’ plight, even if he did not share their objectives. He came back with Bates from Coughton to join Catesby at Huddington for a while. (Danger did not however diminish his sense of style: Henry Morgan would later testify that Tesimond had been wearing ‘coloured satin done with gold lace’ on this occasion.)23
On 7 November the Archpriest Father Blackwell issued a passionate public statement which was far more in keeping with the sentiments of these honest Catholics than the wild door-die statements the conspirators were still making. Blackwell denounced the Plot against the King, the Prince and the nobility as ‘intolerable, uncharitable, scandalous and desperate’. He was horrified by the news that a Catholic – he meant Guido – had been privy to ‘this detestable device’. Father Blackwell hastened to point out that according to Catholic doctrine it was not lawful for ‘private subjects, by private authority, to take arms against their lawful king’, even if he turned into a tyrant. He hammered home the message still further by referring to the duty of priests to instruct their flocks that ‘private, violent attempts’ could never be justified; Catholics must not support them in any way.24
For the conspirators, even if they had time to be aware of the Archpriest’s proclamation, all this was the useless language of passive endurance which they had long ago rejected. In the small hours of the Tuesday morning, 7 November – as early as three o’clock – all those left at Huddington Court including the servants went to confession before taking the Sacrament at Mass. It was an indication, surely, that none of them now expected to live very long. Then they rode out into the rainy darkness, thirty-six of them all told. At midday they were at Hewell Grange, the house of the fourteen-year-old Lord Windsor (Northampton’s ward), who was not there. It was still raining heavily. They helped themselves to arms, gunpowder and a large store of money. But the local villagers gazed at them with sullen hostility. On being told that the conspirators stood for ‘God and Country’, the reply came back that round Hewell Grange, men were for ‘King James as well as God and Country’. Digby admitted later that ‘not one man’ joined them at this stage.25 Their expectations of gathering support had been moonshine.
At ten o’clock that night, the band arrived at Holbeach House, near Kingswinford, just inside Staffordshire. It was the home of Stephen Littleton, one of those from the hunting-party who had actually stuck with them, and it was a house they believed could be fortified. For some time the Plotters had been aware of being followed. For a moment a hope sprang up that these were reinforcements, but it was a wild hope. It was in fact the posse comitatus (vigilante force) of the High Sheriff of Worcestershire, Sir Richard Walsh, accompanied by ‘the power and face of the county’.
Tom Wintour now elected to beard the venerable John Talbot of Grafton, Gertrude Wintour’s father, and see if there might not be some help forthcoming from that source. (Robert Wintour had pointedly refused to do so while they were still at Huddington, saying that everyone knew that John Talbot could not be drawn away from his loyal allegiance to the King.) Stephen Littleton went with Tom. None of this did any good. John Talbot was at his Shropshire home of Pepperhill about ten miles from Holbeach. He repelled them angrily, saying that the visit ‘might be as much as his life was worth’, adding, ‘I pray you get hence.’26 It was while these two were away on their fruitless mission that a horrible accident took place at Holbeach House, which in the taut and eerie atmosphere seems to have changed the mood there from one of bravado to despair.
The gunpowder taken away from Whewell Grange, conveyed in an open cart, had suffered from the drenching rain. It was now spread out in front of the fire at Holbeach to dry, which was an extraordinarily rash thing to do. One gets the impression that the Plotters were by now all so tired, as well as desperate – they had been riding on and on and on, some of them, like Catesby himself, seeking not only arms but sanctuary for the last three nights – that they were hardly aware of what they were doing. At any rate a spark flew out of the fire and the gunpowder ignited. So Catesby got his powder explosion at last. It was a quick violent blaze which engulfed him, together with Rookwood, John Grant and the latter’s friend (from the Dunchurch hunting-party), Henry Morgan. The night before Robert Wintour had had a dream of premonition: ‘He thought he saw steeples stand awry, and within those churches strange and unknown faces.’ When he saw the scorched faces of his comrades, he recognised them as the faces in his dream.27
As Wintour and Stephen Littleton were on their way back to Holbeach, a man brought them a message, which suggested that these conspirators were dead, and the rest of the company ‘dispersed’. At this point Littleton’s determination gave out – he had after all been a latecomer to the enterprise. He encouraged Tom Wintour to fly ‘and so would he’. Wintour, however, showed his usual stubborn resolve. He refused to turn away. ‘I told him I would first see the body of my friend [Catesby] and bury him, whatsoever befell me.’ Wintour went on alone.28
When he arrived at Holbeach, however, he found that the messenger had exaggerated the disaster. It was true that Digby had vanished – in fact he went with the intention of giving himself up – and so had Robert Wintour, who would eventually join up with Stephen Littleton. John Wintour, the stepbrother, who felt he had blundered into the conspiracy by mistake, slipped away during the night hours and gave himself up. The servant Thomas Bates had gone: no pressure was now being put on the Plotters to remain together. But Catesby at least was ‘reasonably well’ and so was Rookwood, although John Grant had been so badly disfigured by the fire – ‘his eyes burnt out’ – that he was blind. Morgan had also been burnt. The remainder of the company consisted of the two Wright brothers, Jack and Kit, stalwart to the last, as they had been among the first of the Plotters, and Thomas Percy. Wintour asked them what they intended to do.
‘We mean here to die,’ was the unyielding reply.
Wintour answered with equal firmness: ‘I will take such part as you do.’
It would not be long now. Sir Richard Walsh and his two hundred men were closing in on Holbeach. On the morning of Friday 8 November, as Guido in the Tower prepared painfully to make the first of his major confessions, his erstwhile comrades readied themselves for the end. The devastating chance of the explosion had convinced them that their deaths were fast approaching, and so they all started to pray: ‘the Litanies and such like’. Then Catesby, taking the gold crucifix which always hung round his neck, and kissing it, said that he had undertaken everything only for ‘the honour of the Cross’ and the True Faith which venerated that Cross. He now expected to give his life for that same cause, since he saw it was not God’s will that they should succeed as they had planned. Yet he would not be taken prisoner: ‘against that only he would defend himself with his sword’.29
The company under Walsh arrived in front of Holbeach about eleven o’clock to besiege the house. Walsh was afterwards criticised for keeping himself ‘close under the wall’ for safety’s sake, although such a quantity of men, armed with muskets, could hardly be said to be in any great danger, nor could the issue of the siege be in much doubt. Almost immediately Tom Wintour, crossing the courtyard, was shot in the shoulder, which cost him the use of his arm. The second shot dropped Jack Wright; Kit Wright was hit next. Their famous swordsmanship had availed them little against the muskets’ fire. After that, Ambrose Rookwood, still suffering from the effects of the fire, was also hit.
There were now left, as possible defenders, Catesby and Percy, as well as the wounded Tom Wintour, the blinded John Grant and the burnt Henry Morgan.
‘Stand by me, Mr Tom,’ said Robin Catesby, ‘and we will die together.’
‘I have lost the use of my right arm,’ answered Wintour, ‘and I fear that will cause me to be taken.’ Even so, the two stood close together for their last stand, along with Percy, at the door of the house by which their assailants would enter. Robin Catesby and Thomas Percy were then brought down together by the same lucky shot. (John Streete of Worcester, who fired the shot, later petitioned for a thousand-pounds reward for this feat, although it was certainly by chance rather than design.)30 Then the besiegers rushed in. What happened next was a macabre kind of rout, in which common sense – these men were wanted criminals – and even humanity, took second place to brutish greed.*
The Wright brothers and Percy were clearly in extremis but might just possibly have been kept alive, despite their ‘many and grievous wounds’, if there had been a surgeon available. Instead, their moribund bodies were crudely stripped: the Ensign of the posse himself pulled off Kit Wright’s boots and fine silk stockings. It was a distasteful scene. Sir Thomas Lawley, who was assisting Walsh, commented on it afterwards to Salisbury, when he referred to the unpleasant lack of discipline of ‘the baser sort’. Percy died fairly quickly, thus fulfilling the explanation of Simon Foreman, the astrologer consulted after his flight: ‘Saturn, being Lord of the 8th house [of death] sheweth that the fugitive shall be taken by the commandment of the Prince, and in being taken, shall be slain.’31 If the Wrights lingered longer, it was not to any purpose; lying there naked on their way to death, they had neither the voice nor the energy to explain why and what they had done.
Grant and Morgan, both damaged by the fire, were easily captured, as was Ambrose Rookwood, who was not only scorched but wounded by musket fire. Tom Wintour, the first to fall, seems to have been saved by the action of the Sheriff’s assistant, Lawley, and Lawley’s servant. Afterwards there was a squabble about Wintour’s horse, which the rival Sheriff of Staffordshire tried in vain to claim. But at the time Lawley at least had some practical sense of duty, realising that the conspirators, taken alive, would do ‘better service’ to the King than their speechless bodies.32 Wintour was at first manhandled and beaten and probably stabbed in his stomach by a pike. Then someone came from behind, caught his arms, including the wounded one, and made him prisoner.
Robin Catesby survived long enough to crawl painfully inside the house. There he managed to find a picture of the Virgin Mary, and it was clutching this in his arms that he finally died. Lawley, who had denigrated the plunderers, saw himself in a different light when he collected up Catesby’s gold crucifix and the pic
ture of the Virgin, together with any other religious items he could find. Naturally, these were not despatched to the bereaved Lady Catesby at Ashby St Ledgers, the mother to whom Robin, on his fiery course, had not wished to say goodbye. To Lawley, these were not devotional emblems but valuable trophies. He sent them up to London to demonstrate just the kind of ‘superstitious and Popish idols’ which had inspired the rebels.33
So Tom Wintour’s worst fears had come about. He had not died with his beloved Robin Catesby and he had lived on, in whatever lacerated state, to tell the tale of the Powder Treason. But Catesby, whose gallantry and rashness had dazzled and seduced a generation of young Catholic men, had had his last wish fulfilled. He had died without being ‘taken’. Not for Catesby the Tower of London and its rigours, nor for him the pitiless indignities of a traitor’s death. Of the two of them, Robin and Tom, it was Catesby who was the lucky one.
In London, the confused frenzy which had gripped almost everyone from King to commoner in the first two days after the discovery of the Plot was beginning to subside. Even before the news of the Holbeach shoot-out reached the capital, the general feeling of actually being endangered – where would they strike next? – was fading. Yet the government made it clear that no chances were being taken. On 7 November, while Percy was still at liberty, his patron the Earl of Northumberland was placed under house arrest, in the care of the Archbishop of Canterbury at Lambeth Palace.
On the same day, the gunpowder ‘from out the vault of the Parliament House’ was transported to the Tower of London. Here it was deposited in ‘His Majesty’s Store within the office of Ordnance’, not very far from where Guido was incarcerated in his subterranean chamber. The gunpowder was described in the official receipt in the Debenture Book of the Royal Ordnance as having been ‘laid and placed for the blowing up of the said house [Parliament] and the destruction of the King’s Majesty, the nobility, and commonality there assembled’. Together with a couple of iron crowbars, eighteen hundredweight of powder was received.34