The bomb having exploded so unexpectedly in the camp of the conspirators, Fawkes a prisoner in the hands of the government, which, following the custom of the day, would probably under torture wring from him a confession, the gentlemen who had been so zealous in the cause had now no thought but of flight. So sudden had been the exposure of their plot—laid bare to the eyes of all England at the eleventh hour—that the bold plans for a well-regulated defense were overthrown completely, and could not be carried out in any degree. Garnet, indeed, was for the time safe, his hiding place unknown to the authorities, and did Fawkes resist with physical and moral force the torture, the Jesuit might not become involved in the consequences of his treason. But Catesby, Percy, the two Winters and others stood in the shadow of the scaffold. That no mercy would be measured out to them was beyond peradventure. Though of brave spirit, they feared, and could but flee before, the anger of the law.
It was indeed a pitiful and chagrined body of horsemen who, hurrying through Worcestershire and the adjoining county, sought to hide themselves from the King's officers. Pausing in their mad flight, they rifled the house of Lord Windsor, taking such arms and armor as best suited their needs. Close after them rode the soldiers of the King incited by promise of reward and honor did they capture and deliver the little band into the hands of Salisbury and his ministers. One face was missing from among those fleeing for their lives in such wild haste. Catesby, Percy, my Lord of Rookwood, the two Wrights, Grant, Morgan and Robert Keyes rode side by side, but Thomas Winter, he who had summoned Fawkes from Spain, was absent. Small need of words between the proscribed conspirators. A single purpose was in each heart—to escape those in pursuit.
As dull night drew on, the horses jaded, their riders fainting from fatigue and fear, the luckless gentlemen reached Holbeach, the house of Stephen Littleton. The early stars were twinkling in the gray vault of heaven when lights from the welcome asylum greeted their eyes. Percy turned to Catesby, who rode at his side.
"Good Robert," said he, "there must we perforce remain till morning; horseflesh can scarce endure the strain much longer, and those who follow must needs halt, also. Stephen Littleton hath been our friend, therefore is his dwelling at our disposal. 'Tis a stout structure, and should the King's men find us therein—some will go with us to the other world."
Catesby smiled sadly. "Here will we indeed rest," replied he; "for, as thou sayest, the beasts be weary. England is small, good Percy; we must not lack courage."
Noting the two leaders pull up their horses at the gate of the dwelling, the others did likewise, and all dismounted and entered the place which, to some, was their last abode—save the grave. In the main chamber a cheerful fire crackled; for in the month of November the air was chill, and Master Littleton perceiving the gentlemen trembling as from cold, caused to be thrown upon the embers a goodly number of faggots which blazed brightly. The sight recalled to Percy's mind the fatal cellar under the House of Parliament, where he had last seen Fawkes guarding with watchful eye the secret which lay beneath so innocent a covering.
Having removed their heavy boots and outer clothing the conspirators talked together, seeking to dispel the gloom which rested upon the company. All were ill at ease, for, although Percy had said the King's officers would rest, it was possible they might secure fresh horses, push on, and attack the house ere morning. Expecting no mercy if taken alive, each resolved to sell his life dearly.
The hours passed on to ten in the evening, when a thing happened which, to the minds of many in England, exemplified the law of God—that the wicked shall perish through their own evil devices. Wishing to have all in readiness should the officers come upon them during the night, and fearing that the gunpowder with which they were provided might have become dampened by reason of the humidity of the weather and its prolonged exposure to the elements, Christopher Wright poured upon a platter some two pounds of the black grains, and set it beside the hearthstone. Noting the action another of the party brought a second bag of powder and treated it likewise, thinking to remove it when sufficiently dry.
Percy perceived the danger and withdrew from his position before the blaze. "Were it not well," said he, "to have a care, lest a spark falling outward do much harm to those within the room?"
"Nay," replied Wright, "'tis my purpose to watch it closely; the stuff, being damp, is worthless."