The Popish Plot: A study in the history of the reign of Charles II

by John Pollock

CHAPTER III

OATES AGAIN

Thus the Popish Plot was introduced to the world, “a transaction which had its root in hell and its branches among the clouds.”[120] While Charles proceeded on his walk, Chiffinch, his confidential valet, refused Kirkby admittance into the royal bedchamber, not knowing his business. Kirkby therefore waited in the gallery till Charles returned and summoned him to ask the grounds of such loyal fears. Kirkby replied that two men, by name Pickering and Grove, were watching for an opportunity to shoot him, and that should they fail, Sir George Wakeman, the queen’s physician, was employed to use poison.[121] Oates and Tonge had committed this piece of information to paper for him the day before. Asked how he knew this, Kirkby answered that he had the news from a friend, who was ready to appear with his papers whenever the king should command. He had waited to give his warning the day before, but had failed. Charles ordered him to return with his friend in the evening. Accordingly between eight and nine o’clock Kirkby escorted Dr. Tonge to Whitehall. The doctor brought with him a copy of the forty-three articles and solemnly presented it to the king, with a humble request for its safe keeping. He entreated that only the “most private cabinet” should be acquainted with the contents; otherwise the secret would leak out, full discovery of the plot would be prevented, and the lives of the discoverers put in hazard. But if under the guise of chemical students they might have access to his Majesty until seizure of the conspirators’ letters showed beyond doubt the truth of their story, all would be well. Tonge afterwards complained that full discovery was rendered impossible because the king did not take his advice. Charles was too busy or too apathetic to attend to the matter himself. He was going to Windsor on the morrow, he said, and would leave the inquiry to Lord Treasurer Danby, on whose ability and honour he placed all reliance.[122] Whence did the papers come to Tonge? he asked. The doctor returned he had found them under the wainscot in Sir Richard Barker’s house; he did not know the author, but suspected him to be a man who had once or twice been there in his absence and had formerly discoursed with him on such matters as appeared in the articles. Of his condition too Tonge was uncertain, but thought he had been among the Jesuits; perhaps, he suggested, the man had been set on by secular priests or the Jansenists.[123] Much the same story was told next day to the Earl of Danby. Tonge and Kirkby called on him in the afternoon, and Kirkby, introducing the doctor, was requested to leave. The Lord Treasurer had read the information overnight and proceeded to examine Tonge on the subject. Were the papers originals? No, they were copies of the doctor’s writing, the originals being in his custody. He did not know the author, but guessed who he was. Did he know where to find this man? No, but he had lately seen him two or three times in the street and thought it likely they might meet again before long.[124] Many were Dr. Tonge’s falsehoods in order to raise an air of sufficient mystery. Three or four days later he returned to Danby with the information that his guess at the authorship of the papers was correct; nevertheless for secrecy’s sake he was not to give the name, since if the fact were to become known the informer would be murdered by the Papists. Danby asked some more particulars. Did the doctor know Pickering and honest William, as Oates had called Grove, who were named as the king’s assassins? Certainly; he could point them out waiting their murderous chance in St. James’ Park. He did not know their lodging, but would find it out and inform the earl; for Danby insisted that they should be arrested forthwith. Leaving a gentleman of his household in London in communication with Tonge, Danby drove down to Windsor and told the king all that had passed. He urged that one of the secretaries of state should issue a warrant for the apprehension of the dangerous persons and that the whole matter should be brought before the council, but Charles would not hear of it. On the contrary, he commanded Danby not even to mention the affair to the Duke of York, only saying that he would take great care of himself till more was known. The Treasurer left Windsor for his house at Wimbledon and sent directions that Lloyd, the gentleman whom he had trusted, should bring him whatever news occurred.[125] Meanwhile Oates was consorting with his Jesuit acquaintances, and even obtained supplies from them; somewhat to their discredit, seeing that he had twice been expelled from Jesuit colleges.[126] In the intervals he concocted additional information, which Tonge took to Kirkby to copy and Kirkby gave to Lloyd for Danby’s perusal.

Despite Tonge’s assurance that Pickering and Grove might be captured in St. James’ Park with their guns, the inquiry seemed as far from reaching solid ground as ever. All that the doctor could do was to point out Pickering to Lloyd in the chapel at Somerset House. It was offered as an excuse for Grove’s absence that he had a cold. Something better than this was obviously required. So one night Tonge went to Wimbledon himself and informed Danby that the assassins were bound for Windsor the next morning; he would arrange for Lloyd to travel in the same coach with them and procure their arrest on arrival. The Treasurer started at once and slept that night at Windsor, laying his plans for the capture; but when the coach drove in, lo! Danby’s gentleman stepped out alone. The others had been prevented from coming by an unforeseen accident. Within two days at furthest however, as Lloyd brought word from Tonge, they would be sure to come. Curiously enough the ruffians failed a second time. On this occasion they were riding and one of the horses had hurt his shoulder. The most that Tonge could manage was by way of addition to the information already lodged. Although Pickering and Grove had been stopped from attacking the king at Windsor, they had all but made the attempt in London. Unfortunately the flint of Pickering’s pistol was loose and he dared not fire: and for this he suffered a penance of thirty lashes. The story was afterwards improved, for Pickering had missed a rare chance not only once, but three times. Now his flint was loose, on another occasion he had no powder in the pan, on a third he had loaded with bullets only and no powder. It might be suspected too that the discovery of the plot was no longer a secret; for Oates, going one day to see Whitebread, the Jesuit provincial, had been met with abuse as a traitor and even with blows. Clearly the Duke of York, who had seen Kirkby come from his first interview with the king, had mistaken him for Oates and told his confessor of the accident.[127] The doctor’s efforts were vain. By no device could Charles be moved to take interest in the matter. Danby was alarmed by the idea that he was the only man beside his master to whom Tonge’s disclosures were known, thinking perhaps that if ill came it might go hard with himself, and urged that they might be communicated to others; but the king had already come to the conclusion that the conspiracy was fictitious, and after the ridiculous excuses offered by Tonge for the absence of the supposed assassins was all the more positive in his refusal to order a formal inquiry. He should alarm all England, he said, and put thoughts of killing him into the minds of people who had no such notions before.[128]

Oates and Tonge now planned a bolder stroke. On August 30 Danby received news from Tonge, for Oates was at this time still unknown to him, that letters telling of treasonable designs had been sent to Father Bedingfield, the Duke of York’s Jesuit confessor, and might be intercepted at the Windsor post-office. Danby instantly returned to Windsor and showed Tonge’s letter to the king. He was met by the announcement that Bedingfield had already been at the post-office. The confessor had found a packet awaiting him. It contained four letters, ostensibly from priests of his order known to him but not in their hands, and a fifth in the same style. All were apparently of dangerous concern, full of mysterious phrases which seemed of no good meaning. Bedingfield took the letters to the duke, who showed them to the king. Thus when Danby arrived at Windsor his news was stale. Charles believed still less in the existence of a real plot. The letters were transparent forgeries. Purporting to be written by different persons, from different places, at different dates, they bore a curious likeness one to another. The paper on which they were written bore the same watermark and appeared to have been cut from one sheet. In every case the name signed was misspelt. Throughout, the writing was disfigured by the same blemishes of style and spelling. Only one of the letters contained a single stop, and that seemed to have been made accidentally. Oates professed afterwards that the handwriting was disguised and that the writers made mistakes on purpose, should the letters be intercepted, to lull the reader to false security. A Jesuit in London, who scented the discovery of the plot, had sent warning to Bedingfield, and the confessor had handed his letters to the duke with the express intention of showing them to be counterfeit and himself to be innocent. Thus, declared the informer with indignation, they had been made to appear the work of forgery. So far as the last goes, Oates spoke the truth. They were patently the composition of himself and his confederate. A tribute to the unscrupulous energy of those who adopted the plot for political purposes is paid by the fact that these letters were suppressed and never brought forward as evidence, although three of the men who were supposed to have written them were afterwards tried for treasons of which, had they been genuine, the letters would have afforded strong proof. Oates met the rebuff by going at Kirkby’s instigation to swear to the truth of his story before a London magistrate. But at court the intriguers were badly received. Kirkby and Tonge called several times on the Treasurer, only to be refused admittance, and when Charles met his old acquaintance he passed by him without word or look.[129]

At this moment a sudden move of the Duke of York threw the game into the hands of Oates. With his usual want of tact James demanded an inquiry into the matter by the privy council. What difference this actually made to the course of subsequent events it is hard to calculate, for Oates was clever enough to place himself in a position not wholly dependent on the action of government, but at least it smoothed his way at the moment. The act of the duke was that of applying the bellows to the seed of a mighty conflagration. At the meeting of Parliament Danby was accused of having tried to stifle the plot; unjustly, for he too had urged investigation. For some time Charles withstood their instance. Danby alone he could have resisted, but when James, whose occasions for importunity were better than those of the Treasurer, added his demand, the king gave way and, against his better judgment, consented. Oates was still occupied in enlarging and copying his information when on the evening of September 27 Kirkby brought word from Lloyd that Tonge was summoned to go with him to the council. The council had already risen and their appearance was postponed till the next morning. Tonge asserted that he would have been better pleased had the inquiry been longer delayed that yet more of the plot might have been discovered. His feelings must really have been of some relief at the opportunity afforded, tempered with suspicion of the council’s intention towards himself. Taking the precaution to place his information beyond reach of danger by leaving a sworn copy with the magistrate who had attested his oath, Oates accompanied his friend to Whitehall. Some ten days earlier Charles had been made acquainted with the informer’s name. The opinion of the government was that Tonge had no other end in view than to obtain a deanery. That notion must have been rudely dispelled by Oates’ appearance at the council board.[130]

Dr. Tonge was the first to enter and, kneeling, handed a petition for pardon for himself and Oates, together with a list of the plotters and their lodging. He was asked who Oates was. An acquaintance of short standing, he answered. He had been a chaplain in the navy on board Sir Richard Ruth’s ship, but having given information of some miscarriages had received hard dealing from the privy council. In point of fact this was the occasion when he had been summarily ejected from the service. As Tonge begged excuse from reciting what he knew further of the plot, an abstract he had made of Oates’ information was read. Oates was called and examined on the contents of the papers. The council sat long, and he was heard at length. His statements were of so general a character that little criticism could be made, but the board was sufficiently satisfied to authorise the informer to search for the men he had named as conspirators. As night fell, he issued forth armed with warrants and officers. Before morning Father Ireland, procurator of the province of the Society of Jesus, Fenwick, agent for the college at St. Omers, Pickering, and other Jesuits were in Newgate. Oates returned to the council on the morning of Sunday, being Michaelmas day, to continue his examination. This time the king was present. Oates was made to repeat all he had said the day before. He had named in his narrative Don John of Austria as not only cognizant of the plot, but active in it. What was he like? asked Charles. Tall and graceful, with fair hair, Oates replied promptly. Charles had seen Don John and knew him to be short, fat, and dark. Oates said that he had seen Père de la Chaize pay in Paris ten thousand pounds as the price for the king’s death. The victim now asked in what part of Paris. In the Jesuits’ house close to the Louvre, was the answer. Again Oates had committed himself, for there was no such house in that position. The letters sent to Bedingfield at Windsor were produced. Oates skated over the thin ice as best he could, declaring that Jesuits used to make their letters appear foolish to conceal their meaning. He pursued his tale with unbroken confidence. Arundel and Bellasis were mentioned. Charles remarked that those lords had served him faithfully, and that without clear proof he would not credit anything against them. Oates protested to God that he would accuse none falsely; he did not say that they were partners in the plot, only that they were to have been acquainted with it. His whole behaviour was of a piece with this. Loud in general accusations, he refused to bring particular charges against persons who might appear to contradict him successfully. Whenever he was pressed, he drew back and hedged. The king ended the meeting by exclaiming that he was a most lying knave.[131]

Oates’ credit was rudely shaken. Nevertheless the matter could not be dropped without further investigation. The informer managed to cover his mistakes by the suggestion that he had himself been deceived. He had misspelt the name of Louis XIV’s confessor, calling him Le Shee; but in an age of loose spelling, when Barillon wrote of Shaftesbury as Schasberi, and Cardinal Howard’s name was spelt Huart by a papal nuncio, this was not of great weight. Oates had evidently lied, but perhaps he had spoken some truth. His assurance and readiness had been such as to amaze the council. Charles himself was taken aback, and though he gave no credence to the informer’s story, felt that great care was necessary for the discovery of the truth. Falsehood has not been unknown in the seventeenth and other centuries as a prop to even a good cause. At all events persons, against whom serious charges, not disproved, had been made, could not be allowed to remain at large. So on the second night in succession Oates was sent his rounds with a guard, sleepless and defying the stormy weather. Before dawn most of the Jesuits of eminence in London lay in gaol. At one point the party encountered a check. Oates led his men to arrest Whitebread, the provincial, at the residence of the Spanish ambassador. The ambassador’s servants resisted the intrusion, and the next day Count Egmont and the Marquis Bourgemayne lodged a complaint with the secretary of state. Material compensation was not to be had, but an ample apology; and the soldiers with Oates were said to have been drunk and were punished.[132] Of greater importance than persons was a find of papers. A warrant had been signed at the council board for the arrest of Coleman. When the meeting rose the Earl of Danby noticed that direction for seizing his papers had been omitted. He hastily caused another warrant for this purpose to be drawn, and obtained the five requisite signatures just in time that a messenger might be dispatched the same evening. Coleman’s house was searched, and, besides others, a deal box containing the most important of his letters was found in a secret recess behind a chimney. Danby could boast with justice, when he was accused of having acted in the French and papist interest, that but for his action the chief evidence of the schemes of both in England might never have come to hand. The Duke of York, against whom they told heavily, would never forgive him, he said. Coleman surrendered himself on Monday morning, and was put under the charge of a messenger with only Oates’ accusation against him. He managed to send word to the French ambassador that nothing would be found in his papers to embarrass him. A cruel awakening from the dream was not long delayed. When his letters came to be read, the lords of the council looked grave and signed a warrant for his commitment. Coleman disappeared into Newgate.[133]

On Monday, September 30, Oates was again examined before the council, and again coursed London for Jesuits. The town was by this time thoroughly alarmed. Coleman’s papers were regarded by the council as of high importance. They shewed at any rate that Oates had known of his correspondence with La Chaize, and seemed evidence of a serious state of affairs. In the streets they were taken as proof of his every statement. Catholics who had sneered at the disclosure began to realise that the charges against Coleman were heavy and that he was in danger of his life.[134] The Protestant mob of London was convinced that the charges against all accused were true. The Duchess of York started on a visit to the Princess of Orange in Holland. It was said that she was smuggling guilty priests out of the country. A fever seemed to be in men’s minds. Freedom of speech vanished. To doubt the truth of the discovery was dangerous. Opinions favourable to the Catholics were not to be uttered without risk. The household of the Duke of York was in consternation, and James himself gloomy and disquiet. Orders were sent into the country to search the houses of Catholics for weapons. Sir John Reresby hurried to town with his family to be on the scene of a ferment the greatness whereof none but an eye-witness could conceive. “In fine,” wrote Lord Peterborough, “hell was let loose; malice, revenge, and ambition were supported by all that falsehood and perjury could contrive; and lastly, it was the most deplorable time that was ever seen in England.” Oates was hailed as the saviour of the nation and was lodged with Dr. Tonge in Whitehall under a guard. “One might,” exclaimed North, “have denied Christ with less contest than the Plot.” To add to the general confusion the king left for the races at Newmarket, scandalising all by his indecent levity. During his absence Dr. Burnet paid Tonge a visit in his lodgings at Whitehall. He found the poor man so much uplifted that he seemed to have lost the little sense he ever had. Oates appeared and was introduced. He had already received a visit from Evelyn. The courtier found him “furiously indiscreet.” Burnet received the flattering intelligence that he had been specially marked by the Jesuits for death; the same had been said of Stillingfleet; but the divines thought the compliment cheap when they found that it had been paid also to Ezrael Tonge. The informer burst into a torrent of fury against the Jesuits and swore he would have their blood. Disliking the strain, Burnet turned the conversation to ask what arguments had prevailed upon him to join the Church of Rome. Whereupon Oates stood up and, laying his hands on his breast, declared: God and his holy angels knew that he had never changed, but that he had gone over to the Roman Catholics to betray them.[135] The perjurer might well triumph. The days of his glory were beginning. On October 21 Parliament met. Before that time Godfrey, the magistrate before whom Oates had sworn to the truth of his deposition, was dead amid circumstances of horror and suspicion, and the future of the informer with his hideous accusations was assured.