When it is considered that the former of these trials was conducted by Lord Chief Justice Hale, the most famous and according to all testimony the most moderate judge of his time, it becomes brilliantly clear that it was not only by incompetent judges, as the nature of the cases makes it clear that it was not only in political trials, that unsound evidence was accepted as genuine, but that the common knowledge of the times did not discriminate in any appreciable manner between evidence which is, and that which ought not to be, sufficient to procure the conviction of prisoners. Without adornment the fact is that evidence which to modern ears is bad, to those of judges and juries of the seventeenth century seemed perfectly good.[585] One further point of similarity between the evidence given at witch trials and at trials for the Plot may be noted. Credence was given to flimsy tales of the devil and his practices, if not solely, at least all the more readily because such ideas were current in the popular mind, and scarcely more than a hint was needed for their embodiment as concrete facts. The same may be said of the revelations of the Popish Plot. For years men had expected nothing more certainly and had feared nothing more keenly than a great onslaught of Catholicism upon their own religion. What they now heard seemed only a just realisation of their prophecies. “They had,” says Bishop Parker, “so familiarly accustomed themselves to these monstrous lies, that at the first opening of Oates’ Plot they with a ready and easy credulity received all his fictions; for whatsoever he published, they had long before expected.”[586]
It is necessary to lay stress upon this aspect of the evidence given by the witnesses at Coleman’s trial, since at all those which followed it reappeared with little variation; but to Coleman himself it was not of the first importance. Sixteen letters selected from his correspondence with Roman Catholics abroad were read at length,[587] and formed the heaviest part of the case against him. From them the nature of his schemes was plainly visible. It was of little moment to him that they were taken as establishing the reality of the nightmare which Oates had sketched. Without anything in common with the blood and thunder tales which that miscreant poured forth, they contained more than enough of treasonable matter to cost the prisoner his head. It was impossible for him to deny the letters. All he could do was to say that he had meant no harm, and to express the hope that they would not be found to bear out the charge of high treason. “I deny the conclusion, but the premises,” he admitted, “are too strong and artificial.”[588] Chief among the correspondence read were three letters to and one from Père de la Chaize and the declaration which Coleman had drawn up to justify the prospective dissolution of Parliament.[589] On the subject of these an important discussion took place between Scroggs and the prisoner. Coleman insisted that there was nothing in his letters to justify the accusation that he had planned the death of the king; he might have used extravagant expressions; but if all the letters were considered together, surely it would be evident that, so far from designing any ill to the king and the Duke of York, his sole aim had been to exalt their power as high as possible. The Chief Justice pointed out that the letters openly declared, almost in so many words, an intention to overthrow the religion and government of the country by the help of foreign power; to say that he had attempted this for the benefit of the king was merely to offer a feeble excuse for his fault; with that the court had nothing to do. Coleman again began to explain his point of view in a rather muddled fashion. People said that he had made use of the duke’s name without leave in his negotiations; was it likely that he had been so foolish as to imagine that his friends abroad would expend their money without the certainty that it was for the duke’s service; still more, was it likely that the duke would use any sum thus obtained to the disservice of the king? “I take it for granted,” he continued “(which sure none in the world will deny), that the law was ever made immediately subject to the king or duke; and consequently to the duke, I cannot think this will ever be expounded by the law of England or the jury to be treason.” At this point the Chief Justice interrupted him impatiently. “These vain inconsequential discourses” served but to waste the time of the court. The plain truth was that the prisoner had formed a design “to bring popery into England, and to promote the interest of the French king in this place”;[590] a fact which Coleman had not even attempted to deny. What Scroggs meant, and what, had he been a better judge, he would have made clear to the prisoner, was that such designs, according to the law which it was his duty to administer as it had been handed down to him, were technically evidence of high treason, whether or no they included an actual plot to kill the king; but he was so much irritated by Coleman’s feeble efforts to say that this was not or ought not to have been so, that he neglected altogether to explain the matter, with the result that when Coleman came up for judgment on the following day he shewed that he was still in the dark about it.[591]
Concerning Coleman’s letters a curious point arose at the trial. In opening the evidence for the crown Sergeant Maynard had remarked that the correspondence found at the prisoner’s house extended only “to some part of the year 1675; from 1675 unto 1678 all lies in the dark; we have no certain proof of it, but we apprehend he had intelligence until 1678.”[592] The Chief Justice took the subject up: “Mr. Coleman, I will tell you when you will be apt to gain credit in this matter.... Can mankind be persuaded that you, that had this negotiation in 1674 and 1675, left off just then, at that time when your letters were found according to their dates? Do you believe there was no negotiation after 1675 because we have not found them?” The prisoner replied, “After that time (as I said to the House of Commons) I did give over corresponding. I did offer to take all the oaths and tests in the world that I never had one letter for at least two years; yea (that I may keep myself within compass), I think it was for three or four.”[593] After he had delivered sentence on the next day, Scroggs adjured the condemned man to confess that he had continued to correspond with agents abroad during the last three years. “I am sorry, Mr. Coleman,” he said, “I have not charity enough to believe the words of a dying man; for I will tell you what sticks with me very much: I cannot be persuaded, and nobody can, but that your correspondence and negotiations did continue longer than the letters that we have found, that is, after 1675.” “Upon the words of a dying man and the expectation I have of salvation,” was Coleman’s answer, “I tell your lordship that there is not a book or a paper in the world that I have laid aside voluntarily.” Scroggs urged that he might have burnt them. “Not by the living God,” returned the prisoner.[594] Coleman lied. The correspondence which he carried on with Paris and Rome, even in the fragmentary state in which it has been preserved, extended beyond the end of the year 1675. Between December in that year and December 1676 he received fifty letters from St. Germain at Paris, and a letter from the same quarter, dated October 5, 1678, was seized on delivery after Coleman’s arrest. From January 1676 to January 1678 a correspondence was steadily maintained between Coleman and Cardinal Howard at Rome either personally or by his secretary Leybourn, and a letter from Leybourn seized on its arrival bore the date October 1, 1678. Shortly before, a “very dark, suspicious letter,” dated September 28, 1678, had been seized on delivery. Coleman even received letters from Italy after his arrest by the help of his wife. The last doubts on the subject are resolved by the evidence of his secretary, Jerome Boatman, taken before the committee of the House of Lords: “I was employed to write home and foreign news. The correspondence was held on until my master was taken. There came letters by post since my master was taken. I delivered the letters to my mistress to carry to my master after he was under the messenger’s hands.”[595] Belief in the dying vows of the Jesuits and their friends is perhaps scarcely strengthened by Coleman’s conduct in this matter. It is remarkable that the means taken for the preparation of the case were so haphazard that the crown lawyers had no knowledge of such valuable material as was in the hands of the committee of the upper house; and it is small testimony to the capacity of the noble lords who negotiated the business of the committee with the Attorney-General[596] that the latter should have been entirely ignorant of its existence.[597]
Throughout his trial Coleman was treated neither more nor less fairly than any other prisoner in any crown case of the period. The practice of the day weighed heavily against him. He did not receive nor could he expect any favour from it. Neither was he met by any special disfavour on political or any other grounds. One point of his defence however should undoubtedly have received more consideration than it did. Oates had charged him with paying a guinea as an extra fee for the king’s murder, “about the 21st day of August.”[598] Almost at the end of the trial, after the final speeches for the prosecution, Coleman announced that if his diary were fetched from his lodgings he could prove that he had been out of town from the 10th of August until the last day of the month.[599] His servant was called, but was unable to do more than say generally that he had been away from London during part of August. With the book, said the prisoner, he would be able to prove his statement exactly; but the Chief Justice would not allow it to be brought, on the ground that even if what he said were true, little would be gained to him.[600] This was no doubt true. Apart from the evidence of Oates, the testimony of Bedloe and his own letters were enough to hang the prisoner, and if Oates’ word had been shaken in this point it would have been but little benefit to Coleman. But a great mistake was made by the court. To have proved a perjury against Oates so early in his career of witness would have inflicted a lasting injury on his character and redoubled the force of the catastrophe which befell him at the trial of Sir George Wakeman eight months later. This was not however apparent at the time, and the Chief Justice’s determination, due to the lateness of the hour and the small extent to which the prisoner’s interest was actually involved, is easy to understand. When he came up to receive judgment the next day Coleman produced the diary,[601] but it was then too late and the chance was gone.
Scroggs proceeded at once to recapitulate the evidence to the jury. What was important in his summing up was almost entirely concerned with the meaning and weight of Coleman’s letters.[602] He pointed out acutely that the construction which the prisoner put upon them and the feeble explanation which he gave of his designs were repugnant to common sense and could not be entertained. “For the other part of the evidence,” he terminated abruptly, “which is by the testimony of the present witnesses, you have heard them. I will not detain you longer now, for the day is going out.”[603] The jury went from the bar and returned immediately with the verdict of Guilty. On the following day Coleman received sentence as usual in cases of high treason, and five days after was executed at Tyburn. As the cart was about to be drawn away he was heard to murmur, “There is no faith in man.” A rumour spread throughout the town that until the end he had expected to receive a pardon promised by the Duke of York, and that, finding himself deceived, he had died cursing the master whom he had so diligently served.[604]
Coleman was not the first man to suffer for the Popish Plot. On November 26, the day Coleman was brought to trial, William Staley, a Roman Catholic goldsmith, had undergone a traitor’s death at Tyburn. Staley was accused by two scoundrels of having in a public tavern uttered words which announced his intention of taking away the king’s life. The chief witness was a wretch named Carstairs, who had eked out a precarious livelihood by acting as a government spy on conventicles in Scotland.[605] Two others of the same kidney corroborated his evidence. They swore that Staley had entered a cookshop in Covent Garden to dine with a French friend named Fromante, and had there burst into a rage against the king; the old man, Fromante, his friend, said “that the king of England was a tormentor of the people of God, and he answered again in a great fury, ‘He is a great heretic and the greatest rogue in the world; here is the heart and here is the hand that will kill him.’... In French the words were spoken, he making a demonstration stamping with his foot: ‘I would kill him myself.’”[606] By an act passed early in Charles II’s reign, “malicious and advised speaking” had been made an overt act of high treason, and on this Staley was indicted. Over his sentence historians have gone into ecstasies of horror, on the ground that it is impossible to believe that “a great Roman Catholic banker” in the position of Staley should have spoken such words.[607] Staley however was not the banker, but the banker’s son, and was not therefore of the same highly responsible age and position as has been supposed. “Young Staley,” as he is called in a letter of the time,[608] is identified by Von Schwerin, ambassador of the Great Elector to the court of Charles II. On November 19 he writes: “Auch ist der Sohn eines sehr reichen Goldschmieds gefänglich eingezogen worden, weil er bei einem Gelage—wiewohl in trunkenem Zustande—Reden geführt hat: die Conspiration sei noch nicht ganz entdeckt, so habe er noch Hände den König zu ermorden.”[609] But the decisive evidence on the point is the fact that William Staley’s father, the banker, was alive some three weeks after he should, according to the received account, have been hanged and quartered. On December 18 his clerk and cashier were examined before the committee of the House of Lords on the subject of a reported connection between their master and Sir George Wakeman. The cashier had been in his service for seven years. The next day Mr. Staley, as ordered, himself attended the committee, bringing with him “the books wherein he has kept his accounts the last two years.”[610] Obviously this man had been head of the firm for more than the previous month, and the account given by the Brandenburg envoy is correct.[611]
To hold that the words attributed to Staley by the witnesses at the trial were spoken “advisedly and maliciously” was undoubtedly to drive the act as far as it would go against the prisoner; but that they were spoken seems almost certain. He hardly denied that he had called the king a rogue and a heretic.[612] His only explanation of the words to which Carstairs swore was that instead of saying “I would kill him myself,” he had said “I would kill myself.” The difference between the words Je le tuerais moi-même and Je me tuerais moi-même is small enough to account for an easy mistake made by a hearer, but it was unfortunate for Staley that, as was pertinently remarked by the Attorney-General, the latter would not make sense in the context. Still more damning was the prisoner’s omission to call as a witness for his defence Fromante, who had taken part in the conversation, and could, if Staley had been innocent, have cleared the point in his favour; but although every facility was given him for doing so, he refused either to call his friend or to make use of the copy of his previous examination, which the Attorney-General offered to lend him.[613] The case was not terminated even by Staley’s sentence and death. In consideration of his exemplary conduct in prison, where he “behaved himself very penitently, from the time of his conviction until the time of his execution, which was attested by the several ministers which visited him during that time,” leave was given by the king that his body should be delivered to his friends after execution for private burial. With great want of tact, and “to the great indignity and affront of his Majesty’s mercy and favour, the friends of the said Staley caused several masses to be said over his quarters, ... and appointed a time for his interment, viz. Friday, the 29th of November 1678, in the evening, from his father’s house in Covent Garden, at which time there was made a pompous and great funeral, many people following the corpse to the church of St. Paul’s, Covent Garden, where he was buried”: in consequence of which an order was given for the disinterment of the body, and to vindicate the majesty of justice his quarters were affixed to the city gates and his head set up to rot on London Bridge.[614]
A fortnight after Coleman’s execution, Whitebread, Fenwick, Ireland, Pickering, and Grove were brought to the bar of the Old Bailey. Thomas White or Whitebread, alias Harcourt, was a man sixty years of age. He had been educated at St. Omers, became a professed father in the Society of Jesus in 1652, and was chosen provincial of the English province at the beginning of the year 1678.[615] It was by his means that Oates had entered the Jesuit College at St. Omers after expulsion from Valladolid, and it was he who Oates swore had boxed his ears on learning that the plot was betrayed.[616] Fenwick, less well known by his real name Caldwell, was ten years his junior. He had joined the English mission from Flanders in 1675, and was now the London agent for the college at St. Omers. Both were noted in the society for their success in the missionary field.[617] Ireland, alias Ironmonger, had come into England in 1677 as procurator of the province.[618] All five were accused by Oates of being principals in the plot and privy to the king’s death. Pickering, a Benedictine, and Grove, a Jesuit lay-brother, were named as the actual agents in one of the schemes for his assassination. Oates’ evidence was long and highly coloured. He had been sent over by the Jesuits to murder Doctor Tonge. He had seen instructions for the murder of the Bishop of Hereford and Dr. Stillingfleet. He had been in the thick of a scheme of Fenwick’s contrivance to raise rebellion in Scotland and Ireland. Whitebread had sealed commissions for the popish army under the seal of Johannes Paulus de Oliva, general of his order. Fenwick had been present when Coleman paid the famous guinea to quicken the message which was to be fatal to the king. All the prisoners had been present at the consult on April 24, 1678, when a resolution to kill the king was signed by at least forty persons, Pickering was to have thirty thousand masses and Grove £1500 for the deed. They had dogged the king in St. James’ Park, and had twisted the silver bullets of their carbines that the wound made might be incurable. Charles would infallibly have been shot had not the flint of Pickering’s pistol been loose, and Pickering had undergone penance of thirty lashes for his carelessness. To use their own words, “they did intend to dispose of the duke too, in case he did not appear vigorous in promoting the Catholic religion.”[619] To all this there was little to be said. The prisoners put some questions to Oates, and were in turn slightly questioned by the court. All that appeared was that Grove had known Oates more intimately than he wished to represent, and that the witness had borrowed from both Grove and Fenwick money which had naturally never been repaid.[620] Fenwick however offered to bring a document from St. Omers, under the seal of the college and attested by unimpeachable witnesses, that Oates had been at the seminary at the time when he swore that he was present in London at the consult at the White Horse Tavern. This was refused by the court without hesitation. Fenwick exclaimed bitterly that the judges seemed to think there was no justice out of England.[621] But in supposing that a special piece of unfairness was directed against himself and his friends he was mistaken. It was a regular and unbroken rule of the court that no evidence could be brought, if such an expression may be used, from outside the trial. Such evidence as reports of other trials, the journals of the Houses of Parliament, the minutes of the privy council was allowed to be used on neither side. It was one of the points in which the practice of the day pressed hardly on the accused, but the judges could not, as Scroggs truly said, “depart from the law or the way of trial.” The theory of the law was that the evidence at a trial might be disproved by the defence, or its value might be destroyed if the witness were proved not to be competent; but neither could it be shaken by such a document as Fenwick proposed to produce,[622] nor could evidence afterwards be called against it to shake the credit of a witness at a previous trial. To effect this the witness must be indicted and convicted for perjury and the record of his conviction proved. Every trial stood by itself, and everything alleged at it had to be proved or disproved on the spot, either by direct evidence or by judicial records sworn at the trial to be correct.[623]
Bedloe was then called. He began by giving evidence of the Plot in general, in pursuit of which he had been employed, he swore, for the last five years to carry letters between Jesuits and monks in England, Ireland, and France, and Sir William Godolphin and Lord Bellasis.[624] But of the prisoners in particular he could only speak to Ireland, Pickering, and Grove. Whitebread and Fenwick he knew by sight alone. At the trial of Reading he confessed that this was a lie.[625] There he explained that he would have borne witness before against the two Jesuits had not Reading been intriguing with him at the time, and that he kept back his evidence in order to lead the attorney deeper into the business.[626] Not only was this admitted by the court as sufficient justification of his conduct, but at their later trial, when Bedloe gave decisive evidence against them, Whitebread and Fenwick hardly made any objection to his credibility upon this ground.[627]
One witness having failed, the prosecution attempted to supply his place by reading a letter written to summon a father of the society to the Jesuit congregation which the provincial had fixed for April 24. But this the Chief Justice would not permit. The letter was from Edward Petre, afterwards confessor to James II, to William Tunstall. It had been found with Harcourt’s papers and did not mention Whitebread’s name at all. The contents might substantiate Oates’ evidence as to the date of the congregation, but they could not conceivably be construed, as the crown lawyers suggested, into evidence touching the prisoners. Scroggs’ opposition prevented the manœuvre, and after a strong warning to the jury he allowed the letter to be read, “to fortify the testimony of Mr. Oates, that there is a general plot: it is not applied to any particular person.”[628]