CHAPTER TEN.
THE CHAIN OF OUR SINS.
"When on the problems of the past A flood of light has come; When we see the evil that we did, And the good we might have done."
Cyrus Thornton.
On the 27th of January, Robert and Thomas Winter, Guy Fawkes, JohnGrant, Ambrose Rookwood, Robert Keyes, and Thomas Bates were placed upontheir trial at Westminster.
Grant and Bates were really guilty of very little beyond knowing of theplot and keeping silence. But they all received the same sentence--tobe hung, drawn, and quartered. Sir Everard Digby was tried separately,but to the same end. He alone pleaded guilty; his principal anxietyseemed to be to save the priests--a wish wherein all the conspiratorsagreed. On leaving the dock, Sir Everard, "bowing himself towards theLords, said, `If I may but hear any of your Lordships say, you forgiveme, I shall go more cheerfully to the gallows.' Whereupon the Lordssaid, `God forgive you, and we do.'"
Of all the conspirators, Sir Everard won the greatest sympathy, from hisrank, his youth, his accomplishments, and especially his fine person--which last drew expressions of pity from the Queen, who was afflictedwith that fatal worship of beauty which was the bane of the Stuart race.
Three days later, the scaffold was set up at the west end of SaintPaul's Cathedral, and four of the traitors were brought forth to die.They were the four least guilty of the group--Sir Everard Digby, RobertWinter, John Grant, and Thomas Bates.
As the prisoners were being drawn to the scaffold upon hurdles, apathetic incident took place. Martha Bates had followed her husband toLondon, and as the procession passed by, she rushed from the crowd ofspectators, and flung herself upon the hurdle in an agony. Bates thentold her of the money entrusted to him by Wright, which he wished her tokeep for her own relief, and it was afterwards granted to her by theCrown.
Arrived at the place of execution, Sir Everard was the first to ascendthe ladder. Very pale, yet very self-controlled, he spoke to thepeople, saying that his conscience had led him into this offence, whichin respect of religion he held to be no sin at all, but in respect ofthe law he confessed that he had done wrong; and he asked forgiveness ofGod, the King, and the kingdom. He declined the ministrations of theclergy, and after a few Latin prayers, crossed himself, and so "made anend of his wicked days in this world,"--an example for all time howlittle education and accomplishments can do to keep man from sin, amartyr to a priest-ridden conscience unenlightened by the Word of God.
Robert Winter followed next. He scarcely spoke, asked no forgiveness,but after a few silent prayers, passed calmly into the Silent Land.
The next was John Grant. This grave, melancholy man went smiling to hisdeath. When he was entreated to seek for pardon for his crimes, hisreply was, in a triumphant tone, "I am satisfied that our project was sofar from being sinful, that I rely entirely upon my merits in bearing apart of that noble action, as an abundant satisfaction and expiation forall sins committed by me during the rest of my life!" He died thus witha lie in his right hand, and went to present the filthy rags of his ownrighteousness before His eyes in whose sight the heavens are not pure,and whose command is "Thou shalt do no murder."
Last came poor Bates, who "seemed sorry for his offence," and said thatonly his love for his dead master had drawn him to forget his duty toGod, his King and country. And "thus ended that day's business."
In Old Palace Yard, "over against the Parliament House,"--namely, wherenow stands the statue of Godfrey de Bouillon--the second scaffold waserected on the following day. The four prisoners who were now to sufferwere, the priests excepted, the most guilty of those left alive. Theywere drawn from the Tower on hurdles, as was usual. As they passedalong the Strand, from an open window the beautiful Elizabeth Rookwoodcalled to her husband--
"Ambrose, be of good courage! Thou art to suffer for a great and noblecause."
Raising himself from the hurdle as well as he could, Rookwood answered,"My dear, pray for me."
"I will, I will!" she cried. "And do you offer yourself with a goodheart to God and your Creator. I yield you to Him, with as full anassurance that you will be accepted of Him as when He gave you to me."And so the procession passed on.
The first to suffer of these was Thomas Winter. He was extremely pale,and seemed sorry for his offence "after a sort;" but he spoke little,merely protesting that he died "a true Catholic."
Rookwood, who came next, made a long speech. He said that he askedforgiveness of God, whom he had offended in seeking to shed blood, ofthe King, and of the people. He prayed for the King and Royal Family,entreating that the King might become a "Catholic:" [Note 1] and hebesought the King's goodness to his Elizabeth and her children. He wasspared the worst, for he drew his last breath ere it began.
The next to follow was Keyes. He had said on the trial that hisfortunes being desperate, his fate was "as good now as another time, andfor this cause rather than another." In this hardened, reckless spirit,he flung himself from the ladder, with such force as to break thehalter.
Last came "the great devil of all," Guy Fawkes, who, "being weak withtorture and sickness, was scarce able to go up the ladder." He made nolong speech, but "after a sort, seemed to be sorry" and askedforgiveness: and "with his crosses and his idle ceremonies" wascast-off, dying instantaneously.
So ended the awful scenes which were the reward of the Gunpowder Plot.
But not yet had justice overtaken all the perpetrators of this villainy.Three important traitors were yet at large, and they were all Jesuitpriests. Greenway, who had fled from Holbeach with Robert Winter, hadnot continued in his company. For ten days he hid in barns and cottagesin Worcestershire; but when the proclamation was made for his arrest,thinking it safest to be lost in a crowd in the metropolis, he came toLondon. Here he was one day seized by a man, as they stood among othersreading the proclamation for his arrest. Greenway, with artfulcomposure, denied the identity, but went quietly with his captor tillthey reached an unfrequented street, when the priest, who was a verypowerful man, suddenly set upon his companion, and escaping from him,after a few days' concealment fled to the coast, whence he safelycrossed to the Continent. He afterwards wrote for his superiors anarrative of the plot, wherein all the conspirators are impeccableheroes of the romantic novel type, and the plot--which during itsexistence he upheld and fervently encouraged--is condemned as a "rash,desperate, and wicked" piece of business. He succeeded so well indeceiving his superiors (or else they were equally hypocritical withhimself), that he was appointed Penitentiary to the Pope, and ended hislife in the full favour of that potentate.
Gerard, also, who had originally assisted the plotters in taking theiroath of secrecy, had now disappeared. So excellent an opinion had theRoman Catholics of him, that many refused to believe "that holy, goodman" could have had any share in the conspiracy. The description ofthis worthy, as given in the proclamation for his arrest, is curious inits detail, and the better worth quoting since it has apparently notbeen printed:--
"John Gerrarde the Jesuit is about thirty years old, of a good stature,something higher than Sir Thomas Leighton [this name is crossed out, andreplaced by the word] ordinary, and upright in his pace and countenance;somewhat staring in his looke and Eyes, curled headed by Nature, andblackish, and not apt to have much hair on his beard. His Nose somewhatwide, and turning up; blebberd lipped [thick-lipped], turning outward,especially the upper lip, upward toward the Nose. Curious in speech, ifhe do continue his custom, and in his speech he flewreth [Note 2] andsmiles much, and a faltering, lisping, or doubling of his tongue in hisspeech." [Note 3.] What a picture of a Jesuit! This is the type ofman who practises an art which I never saw to such perfection as once inthe Principal of a Jesuit College--that of:
"Washing the hands with invisible soap In imperceptible water."
Lastly, what had become of Garnet? He had not escaped nor left England,yet he seemed in some inscrutable manner to have vanished from the faceof the earth, as com
pletely as a morning mist.
The next step was to secure White Webbs. Commissioners were sent downto Enfield Chase, with directions to search for that undiscoverablehouse, to make thorough investigation of it, and to take into custodyevery individual therein. They found the place--an old rambling housein the heart of the Chase, full of trap-doors, passages, unexpectedsteps up or down, holes, corners, and cupboards at every turn. But ithad no inhabitants save servants, and they could tell little. Theirmistress was Mrs Perkins, the widowed sister of Mr Mease, a Berkshirefarmer. It was quite true they were Catholics, all allowed; andElizabeth Shepherd admitted that mass had been performed in the house.But what connection could there be between the Gunpowder Plot and worthyMr Mease the faimer, or innocent Mrs Perkins the widow?
Many persons would have resigned the search: but not so Sir WilliamWade. Sir William Wade, the Keeper of the Tower, had an uncommonly keenscent for a heretic which term was in his eyes the equivalent of aJesuit. He could see much further than any one else through amillstone, and detected a Jesuit where no less acute person suspectedanything but a farmer or a horse-dealer. Not only was a Jesuit capableof every crime that man could commit, but every criminal was prettynearly certain to turn out a Jesuit. Moreover, Sir William loved a jokeonly less than he bated a Jesuit; and apathy in any pursuit was not oneof his failings who wrote that "he thanked God on the knees of his soul"for the discovery of the Gunpowder Plot.
Mr Mease was not to escape Sir William's penetration. He was anxiousto see a little more of Mr Mease, and of Mrs Perkins also.
For the moment, however, he was doomed to disappointment. Sturdy JamesJohnson, Mrs Perkins' servant, would not betray his employers, evenwhen put to the rack, until he had suffered appallingly. Half-an-hourhad been sufficient to exhaust Guy Fawkes' endurance, but James Johnsonbore three hours. Even then he could tell little. For his mistress'sbrother he knew no name but Mease, except that he had heard himaddressed as "Farmer:" but he did know, and had known for two years,that the real name of his mistress was Anne Vaux. He could also saythat she had been visited by a Mr and Mrs Skinner, a Mr and MrsThomas Jennings, a Mr Catesby, and a little gentleman whom the lattercalled Tom, and whose name he said was Winter. As to himself, Johnsonasserted that he was "a Romishe Catholic," and "never was at church noryet at mass in his life." Frightened little Jane Robinson, agedfourteen, admitted that mass had been said in the house, but when askedwhat vestments the priest wore, could only answer that "he wasapparelled like a gentleman."
Sir William Wade went down once more upon the knees of his soul, whenhis ears were refreshed by these delightful names. At Harrowden, theseat of Lord Vaux, the family had already been questioned to no purpose.Mrs Vaux, the mother of the young Lord, and the sister-in-law of Anne,was astonished that anybody should suspect her of a guilty knowledge ofthe plot. Having previously denied that she knew any such person asGerard, she subsequently confessed that Gerard and Garnet had beenfrequently at her house, and that she had a vague suspicion that"something was going to happen." Harrowden must be furtherinvestigated; and admissions were wrung from the servants at White Webbswhich satisfied the commission that the relations between Anne Vaux andGarnet had been of an intimate character. Sir William Wade was now onthe track of a Jesuit, and might be trusted to pursue that enticing pathwith eager and untiring accuracy.
The watch set at Harrowden was removed just too soon. Had it lasted twodays longer, Gerard would have been starved out, for he lay concealed inthe priest's hiding-place. As soon as the watching party took theirleave, he emerged from his refuge, and succeeded through multifariousdifficulties in safely escaping over seas.
About this time--from what source is uncertain--a hint reached theGovernment to the effect that Gerard might possibly, and Hall wouldprobably, be found in one of the priest's hiding-places at Hendlip Hallin Worcestershire, the residence of Mr Thomas Abington. Edward Hall,alias Oldcorne, [Note 4] was Mr Abington's private chaplain; and thoughthere is little evidence extant to connect him with the plot, theGovernment appear to have been extremely suspicious of him. When,therefore, the suggestion reached them that they might as well inspectthe curiosities of Hendlip Hall, the authorities lost no time in sendingdown Sir Henry Bromley, of Holt Castle, at the head of a searchingparty, for that purpose.
Until 1825 or thereabouts, Hendlip Hall remained standing, on thehighest ground in the neighbourhood between Droitwich and Worcester, andrather nearer to the latter. A most curious, cunningly-planned,perplexing house it was--a house of houses wherein to secrete apolitical refugee or a Jesuit priest--full of surprises, unexpectedturnings, sliding panels, and inconceivable closets without apparententrances. "There is scarcely an apartment," wrote a spectator shortlybefore its destruction, "that has not secret ways of going in or goingout; some have back staircases concealed in the walls; others haveplaces of retreat in their chimneys; some have trap-doors, and allpresent a picture of gloom, insecurity, and suspicion." On one side wasa high tower, from which the approach of any enemy could be easilyobserved. The house had been built in 1572, by John Abington, coffererto Queen Elizabeth; but his son Thomas, the owner in 1605, had added thehiding-places. Such concealed chambers were very common in housesbelonging to Roman Catholic families; and in the safest of all those atHendlip Hall, two priests were at that moment in close confinement. TheGovernment had been so far truly informed. Hall, too, was one of them:but Gerard was not the other. Sir William Wade would have danced indelight, could he have known that his colleagues were on the track ofthe great Provincial of the Jesuit Mission to this heathen country ofEngland, the chief of all the conspirators yet left at large.
About two months before this, Garnet had come to the conclusion that hewas no longer safe at Coughton, which, as the property of MrThrockmorton, and lately in the occupation of Sir Everard Digby, wouldbe likely to obtain a thorough overhauling. From Mr Hall he hadreceived a pressing invitation to Hendlip for himself and hisconfidential servant, Nicholas Owen, who went by the name of "LittleJohn." The latter was an old acquaintance at Hendlip, for it was hisingenuity that had devised the numerous hiding-places which had beenadded to the Hall by its present owner. To Hendlip accordingly Garnetremoved from Coughton,--accompanied by Anne Vaux and the Brooksbys,--about the 16th of December, and for some weeks resided with the familywithout concealment. But on Monday, the 20th of January, as the daybroke, Sir Henry Bromley and his troops marched up to and investedHendlip Hall.
The Hon. Mrs Abington was a sister of Lord Monteagle, and was quite asgood an actress as her brother was an actor. She possessed the power ofassuming the most complete outward composure, as if nothing whateverwere the matter, however adversely things might be going to her wishes.She had also a very quiet, very firm, very unmanageable will. MrAbington was not at home; but that signified little, for the grey marewas unquestionably the superior creature of the pair.
If the information imparted to her so early on that morning had beenthat the cat had mewed, or that a hen had dropped a feather, the lady ofHendlip could scarcely have received it with more repose of manner.
"That is what we might look for," said she. "If it please you, holyFathers, it might be as well that you should repair to one of yourchambers for a while.--Bid Edward come to me."
Edward, a white-headed confidential servant with an aspect of appallingrespectability, presented himself at once in response to his mistress'ssummons.
"Edward," said Mrs Abington, "I would have you, quickly, take up theseholy Fathers to the hole in your chamber, and set Little John andChambers in the next safest. There are enemies approaching."
Edward bowed his dignified head, and obeyed.
He led Garnet and Hall up the chief staircase, and into the bedroomoccupied by Edward himself, which stood behind that of his master.
Garnet cast his eyes round the chamber.
"Truly, good Edward," said he, "I scarce see means to hide so much as amouse in this chamber, other than in yonder closet, which is as pla
in asthe door or the window."
Edward replied by an amused smile.
"You've a deal of book-learning, Father Garnet," said he, "but underyour leave, there's a few things you don't know in this world."
He walked into the chimney-corner.
Chimneys, be it remembered, were much wider in the seventeenth centurythan they have been since the invention of grates. There was room inevery chimney-corner, not only for the fire, but for one or two chairsand settles, where people could sit when they wished to warm themselves;and as there was no fire on Edward's hearth, moving about on it was aseasy as in a closet.
"Are we to fly up the chimney on a pair of broomsticks?" laughed Hall.
Edward only smiled again, and after a moment's feeling with his handamong the bricks at the side of the chimney, they heard a sound as ofthe pushing back of bolts. Slowly, as if it moved with some difficulty,a square door opened in the chimney, so cleverly concealed that itrequired a skilful detective indeed to guess its existence. The doorwas of wood, "curiously covered over with brick, mortared and made fast"to it, "and coloured black like the other parts of the chimney, thatvery diligent inquiry might well have past by." Behind it was a verysmall square recess, large enough to hold the two, though notsufficiently high for them to stand upright. A narrow tunnel, inoutward appearance like a chimney, led up to the top of the house,designed for the admission of light and air to the hiding-place, butcapable of conveying no great quantity of either. Having fetched ashort ladder, Edward placed it in position, so that the priests couldclimb up into the chamber.
"It had been more to your comfort, Fathers, could we have cast forthsome of this furniture," he said, looking round it: "but it were scarcewise to defer the matter, the house being already invested."
"Let be, we will serve ourselves of it as it is, and well."
The priests mounted into the tiny hiding-place.
"See you, holy Fathers," Edward asked, "a vessel of tin, standing belowa little hole in the wall? Have a care that you move it not without youfirst stop the hole, for it runneth through into my mistress's chamber,and by a quill or reed therein laid can she minister warm drinks untoyou, as broths and caudle. She can likewise speak to you through thehole, and be heard: but if you hear the noise of feet or strange voicesin that chamber, have a care to lie as squat [quiet] and close as everyou can. So may you safely hover [lie concealed]; for the cleverestsoldier of them all shall be hard put to it to find you here, if itplease God."
Would it please God? Did no memory come to either of those well-readpriestly refugees of a familiar question--"Shall the throne of iniquityhave fellowship with Thee?"
"A tight fit this, for two!" said Hall.
"Ay, it is. There hath not been above one here aforetime. But it isthe safest hilling [hiding-place] in the house. Good-day, holy Fathers,and God keep you safe!"
While these scenes were enacting in one part of the house, in anotherSir Henry Bromley was introducing himself to the lady of Hendlip Hall,and, with plumed hat in hand, apologising for his intrusion, and civillyrequesting her permission to examine the house. A kindly,tender-hearted man was the commander of this searching party, but at thesame time a conscientious one, and a determined Protestant.
If anything could be more considerate and cordial than Sir Henry'sappeal, it was to all appearances the spirit wherein it was received.Mrs Abington begged her visitor not to speak of intrusion. His Majestythe King had no subjects more loyal than every man and woman in thathouse. It was really a source of pleasure to her that her abode shouldbe scrutinised in the most critical manner, and her perfect innocenceand submission to law thus made manifest. The lady at once deliveredher keys--she did not say that a few of them were on a separate bunch--and requested that no quarter might be given. Appearances were socharming, and innocence apparently so clear, that they might havedeluded a more astute man than Sir Henry Bromley.
Sir Henry, however, had come to do his duty, and he did it in spite ofappearances. Lord Salisbury had furnished him with minute instructions,which pointed decidedly to probable need of caution in this respect. Hewas to search for a suspected vault at the east end of the dining-room;for a similar erection beneath the cellars; for ingenious closetssqueezed in between the walls of upper rooms; for possible holes incorners and chimneys, wainscots which could be pierced by gimlets,double lofts, and concealed chambers in the rafters. Sir Henry set towork. "Madam," said he to Mrs Abington, "were it not more to theconveniency of yourself and these gentlewomen your friends, that youshould take occasion to pay some visit forth of the house? I fear thenoise made by my men, not to speak of the turning about of your chambersby taking up of boards and trying of wainscots, shall greatly incommodeyou if you tarry."
Sir Henry wanted sadly to get the ladies away. But Mrs Abington wasquite as sagacious as himself, and more determined. She assured himthat the noise was nothing, and the little novelties of holes in herdining-room floor and broken wainscots in her drawing-room would berather amusing than otherwise. Poor Sir Henry, baffled by this cleverwoman, laments to Lord Salisbury,--"I did never hear so impudent liarsas I find here--all recusants, and all resolved to confess nothing, whatdanger soever they incur.--I could by no means persuade the gentlewomanof the house to depart the house, without I should have carried her,which I held uncivil, as being so nobly born; as I have and do undergothe greater difficulties thereby."
The Monday night brought home the master of the house. He answered thequeries of the gentlemen in possession with as much apparent franknessas his wife, but assured Sir Henry that the persons for whom he wassearching were absolute strangers to him; he had never seen any of themsave Gerard, and him only some five and twenty years before. Forsuspecting him of harbouring priests, not to speak of traitors, therewas not a shadow of reason!
Sir Henry went on searching, though he was out of hope. In the firstplace, he discovered some parcels of "books and writing," which showedat that time that "some scholars" must have used them; an ordinarycountry gentleman was not expected to have any books, except Bible andprayer-books, one or two on law, needed in his capacity as a magistrate,a book on etiquette, and a few dog's-eared plays. On the Wednesday adiscovery of more importance was made, for in three or four places whereboards were uplifted, a quantity of "Popish trash" was brought to light.Thus encouraged, the searchers resolved to continue their work, whichthey were on the point of giving up. Mr Abington continued to protesthis supreme innocence of all knowledge or connivance. The books werenone of his; the "Popish stuff" astonished him as much as it did thesearchers. This assumption of exquisite stainlessness lasted until oneday a hiding-place was discovered, which contained his family munimentsand the title-deeds of his estate. After that, Mr Abington protestedno more; and it was needless, for he would not have been believed had hedone so. Sir Henry at once despatched him to Worcester to be taken careof by a magistrate; and "being much wearied," on Wednesday nightreturned to his own house to take rest, leaving his brother Sir Edwardin charge.
On the Thursday morning, when he returned to Hendlip, he was met by twowan, gaunt men, whose countenances showed privation and suffering. Theygave their names as William Andrews and George Chambers.
By some unexplained want of care or foresight, these two unfortunate menhad been suffered to secrete themselves without provisions, and hadnothing but one apple between them from Monday to Thursday.
Sir Henry was delighted, for at first he thought he had secured Greenwayand Hall. A little further examination, however, showed him that hiscaptives were only the priests' servants; yet he shrewdly surmised thatthe servants being there, the masters in all probability were not faraway.
For four days more the search was pursued in vain: but on the 27th newscame that not only was Hall certainly concealed in the house, but thatthe most important of all the implicated Jesuits, Garnet, would probablybe found by a diligent continuance of the search. It came from anunexpected quarter--no other than Red Humphrey Littleton.
/> Justice had not been slow in overtaking the harbourers of Robert Winterand Stephen Littleton. White and his brothers had got clear away; butSmart, Hollyhead, Perks, and Burford, suffered the last penalty of thelaw. Margaret Perks was pardoned, though condemned to death. HumphreyLittleton received the torture; and when apparently at the point ofdeath, entreated permission to confess important facts, which hepromised to do if his life might be spared. His appeal was granted, andhe then told the authorities that the most important criminal still atlarge would be found in the priest's hiding-place at Hendlip Hall.
Fortified by this encouraging news, though the prisoners already takendenied all knowledge of any others being hidden in the house, Sir Henrypushed on his search; and at last, on the 28th, eight days after hisarrival, one of his men broke into the cunningly contrived hiding-placein the chimney of Edward's room. This brave discoverer was so terrifiedby his own success that he ran away lest the priests should shoot him;but others coming rapidly to his assistance, the priests offered to comeout if they might do so with quietude. "So they helped us out," saysGarnet, "very charitably."
Garnet's account of their experiences in "the hoale," as he terms it, isnot suggestive of an inviting place. "We were in the hoale seven daysand seven nights and some hours, and were well wearied;" the place wasso encumbered with books and furniture that they "could not find placefor their legs" even when seated; and the cramped positions which theywere compelled to assume caused their legs to swell greatly. Garnetseems to have suffered more of the two. Yet he adds that they were"very merry and content," and could have stayed three months, thoughwhen they came out at last, "we appeared like two ghosts."
Sir Henry Bromley at once recognised the Provincial of the JesuitMission; but which of his various aliases really belonged to him puzzledhis captor not a little, and Garnet declined to enlighten him.
"Call me as you will," said he; "I refer all to my meeting with my Lordof Salisbury, and he will know me. In truth, I say not thus for anydiscourtesy, but that I will not, in the places we are, be made anobloquy: but when I come to London, I will not be ashamed of my name."
Sir Henry now marshalled his prisoners for transport to Worcester. Hedescribed them to the authorities as "Humphrey Phillips alias HenryGarnet; John Vincent alias Hall; Thomas Abington, Esquire; WilliamAndrowes alias Nicholas Owen, either a priest or servant to Garnet;George Chambers, servant of Hall; Edward Jarrett, servant of MrsDorathie Abington; William Glandishe, servant of Mr Abington." [Note5.] Mr Abington and the priests were taken to Worcester in Sir Henry'scoach. The mind of that gentleman was somewhat exercised as to what hewas to do with them when he got them there. Before leaving Hendlip hehad promised to place them in the house of some bailiff or citizen; butas they were driving into Worcester, he said uneasily--
"My masters, I cannot do for you as I would; I must needs send you tothe gaol."
"In God's name!" [Note 6] responded Garnet. "But I hope you willprovide we have not irons, for we are lame already, and shall not beable to ride after, to London."
Sir Henry's tender heart was touched at once.
"Well," said he, "I will think of it."
He thought of it to such purpose, that when they reached the inn, heplaced Garnet in a private room, with a guard--his Reverence says, "toavoid the people's gazing;" Sir Henry would probably have added that itwas also in order to prevent the prisoner's disappearance. Afterdespatching his business he ordered his coach, and took his prisonershome with him to Holt Castle. Here, on their own testimony, they were"exceeding well used, and dined and supped with him and his everyday,"--not without some apprehension on the part of their kindly gaolerthat they might reward him by perverting his young daughters from theProtestant faith.
When Candlemas Day came, Sir Henry "made a great dinner to endChristmas," and sent for wine to drink the King's health. It was thencustomary for gentlemen always to dine with their hats on, and touncover when a royal toast was proposed. The hats were doffedaccordingly. The wine came in, and with it a wax candle, lighted--ablessed candle taken at Hendlip, among the "Popish trash," and destinedfor use on the services of that very day, having "Jesus" painted on oneside of it, and "Maria" on the other. Garnet's heart leaped at thefamiliar sight, and he begged leave to take the candle in his hand.Passing it to Mr Hall, he said, half joyfully, half sadly--
"I am glad yet, that I have carried a holy candle on Candlemas Day."
Restoring the holy wax to the unholy candlestick, the priests drank theKing's health in what Mr Garnet is kind enough to tell us was "areasonable glass"--a piece of information the more valuable, since thisadjective was not always applicable to his Reverence's glasses.
When they came to leave Worcester, the parting between Garnet and theladies was almost affectionate. The priest was evidently possessed ofthat strong personal magnetism which some men and women have, and whichis oftener exercised for the purposes of Satan than in the service ofGod.
"Madam," he said to Lady Bromley, "I desire you all to think well of metill you see whether I can justify myself in this cause."
The journey to London took longer than would otherwise have been needed,on account of the condition of the prisoners. Garnet, whose sufferingshad been the more severe, was also the one in whom their results lastedlongest; and on the 5th of February, Sir Henry wrote that he was "but aweak and wearisome traveller." He was, however, "passing well used atthe King's charge, and that by express orders from my Lord Salisbury,"and "had always the best horse in the company." Garnet adds, "I hadsorde bickering with ministers by the way. Two very good scholars, andcourteous, Mr Abbott and Mr Barlow, met us at an inn; but two otherrude fellows met us on the way, whose discourtesy I rewarded with plainwords, and so adieu." The Jesuit Superior apparently rather enjoyed alittle brisk brushing of wits with well-educated gentlemanly clerics,but felt some disgust of abuse which passed for argument with others.On the evening of the 6th of February they reached London, where theywere lodged in the Gate-house, and Garnet was "very sick the first twonights with ill lodging." It was not until the 13th that the firstexamination took place before the Privy Council at Whitehall.
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Note 1. To which the reporter adds, "otherwise a Papist, which God forHis mercy ever forbid!"
Note 2. To flewer or fleer is to smile in that grinning manner whichshows all the teeth. Our forefathers considered it a mark of asneering, envious man.
Note 3. Domestic State Papers, James the First, volume eighteen,article 20.
Note 4. This most untruthful gentleman asserted that "his true name wasOldcorne;" but Garnet and Anne Vaux both call him Hall in writing toeach other.
Note 5. Domestic State Papers, James the First, volume 18, article 64.Mrs Dorathie Abington was Mr Abington's maiden sister, who lived atHendlip Hall, and had a priest of her own, a Jesuit, named Butler orLyster. He does not appear in this narrative, and was very likelyabsent.
Note 6. This was not meant profanely, but was simply equivalent tosaying, "God's will be done!"